The Northern Aurora and the Last Ogre (British Edition)

British folk, j-pop, Japanese folk, world music, folk rock, progressive rock, British rock

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A drop-out from the matrix, a petty criminal filled with pride,
He stares at her perfect beauty, looking for the malice she might hide.
"Is she a ghost from a campfire tale?" he watches her every move,
But her endless, gentle kindness is the only thing he can prove.
"Your wounds are healed, it's time to leave," she says beneath the winter sky,
And with a trembling throat, the loser finally asks her: "Why?"

Escaping the neon cages, the noise of the city I used to hate,
At the very edge of the world, I stumbled upon a different fate.
Too perfect, too pure, the touch of your hands against the chill,
Melting my ruined past away, making my broken heart stand still.

She smiles a sorrowful smile, touching the scar upon her head,
"We crossed the line of freedom, and our continent sank into the dead.
We are judged by your rules, while your 'self-responsibility' leaves the broken to bleed.
I wanted to surrender, to end this lonely life indeed.
But my lover who died, and the millions who drowned, had so much more to give,
I must carry their unfulfilled dreams, and until my last daylight, I must live."

Waiting alone for the final dawn, a fear I could never confide,
Deep in the dark of the night, a fragile girl was weeping inside.
The voice of my lover, the tears of my people, a fading ghost-like trace,
I hold them tight in my silent chest, breathing in this lonely place.

The tough-talking loser, with no power or money in his hand,
Vows to protect the ultimate minority in this cold, heartless land.
"The winners have paved roads, but I'll walk in the dirt with you."
His clumsy chutzpah melts the ice, a devotion so raw and true.
Under the blazing northern lights, their scarred bodies merge into one.

The next morning, they hold hands, walking back into the neon gray,
No cinematic miracles, just facing the harsh, ordinary day.
What is happiness? It’s not found in their privileged view,
But in the survival of the outcast and the Ogre, starting anew.
Two modern phantoms, stepping into the city, under the pale white sun.

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When a sister returns to quantum, the northern aurora starts to glow, "Another soul is freed from the curse," she whispers soft and low. The last Ogre alive, living centuries without her twin horns, Hiding in the frozen forest, far from the human scorns. Until an outcast man collapses in her yard, with nowhere else to go. A drop-out from the matrix, a petty criminal filled with pride, He stares at her perfect beauty, looking for the malice she might hide. "Is she a ghost from a campfire tale?" he watches her every move, But her endless, gentle kindness is the only thing he can prove. "Your wounds are healed, it's time to leave," she says beneath the winter sky, And with a trembling throat, the loser finally asks her: "Why?" Escaping the neon cages, the noise of the city I used to hate, At the very edge of the world, I stumbled upon a different fate. Too perfect, too pure, the touch of your hands against the chill, Melting my ruined past away, making my broken heart stand still. She smiles a sorrowful smile, touching the scar upon her head, "We crossed the line of freedom, and our continent sank into the dead. We are judged by your rules, while your 'self-responsibility' leaves the broken to bleed. I wanted to surrender, to end this lonely life indeed. But my lover who died, and the millions who drowned, had so much more to give, I must carry their unfulfilled dreams, and until my last daylight, I must live." Waiting alone for the final dawn, a fear I could never confide, Deep in the dark of the night, a fragile girl was weeping inside. The voice of my lover, the tears of my people, a fading ghost-like trace, I hold them tight in my silent chest, breathing in this lonely place. The tough-talking loser, with no power or money in his hand, Vows to protect the ultimate minority in this cold, heartless land. "The winners have paved roads, but I'll walk in the dirt with you." His clumsy chutzpah melts the ice, a devotion so raw and true. Under the blazing northern lights, their scarred bodies merge into one. The next morning, they hold hands, walking back into the neon gray, No cinematic miracles, just facing the harsh, ordinary day. What is happiness? It’s not found in their privileged view, But in the survival of the outcast and the Ogre, starting anew. Two modern phantoms, stepping into the city, under the pale white sun.

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