I’ve been hoping someone would outstretched his hands
So I asked all of them if they’re ready to rise and fight
If the narrowing faith has ended to bliss
Then it’s the miracle of this old story.
Cries of demise has turned into winds of psalms
Watching the blue moon above as it smiles down
Through the lament grief made by loathsome Past
My hopes will turn to wind and then blow like a dust.
It may be the Voice that I’ve been seeking for
Though it still ended with nothing but a folklore
Yet, my hand still search for the invisible light
That will save my soul through this unbearable night.