In the Mist... In the haze, in the smoky, ashen captivity, Piercing, stealing away my will. Your voice—a sunbeam, a spark of divinity, Lifted me up, and the pain stands still. I’ll make it... I hear your voice so clear, I’ll walk... I’ll stumble... I’ll drink the sky. It’s no sin—to steal a moment with you here, The closer you are, the less the mist makes me sigh. I listened... I rose, no—it wasn’t a dream, To walk along walls—no great art. Living in the mist—has lost its gleam, Your voice, my guide, slipped into my heart. I’ll make it... I hear your voice so clear, I’ll walk... I’ll stumble... I’ll drink the sky. It’s no sin—to steal a moment with you here, The closer you are, the less the mist makes me sigh. Your voice—a prayer for the sinner, My anthem of victory, my weary companion. I’ve forgotten the mist—my sorrow’s beginner, Your voice—my triumph, my eternal champion. I’ll make it... I hear your voice so clear, I’ll walk... I’ll stumble... I’ll drink the sky. It’s no sin—to steal a moment with you here, The closer you are, the less the mist makes me sigh. I’ll make it... I hear your voice so clear, I’ll walk... I’ll stumble... I’ll drink the sky.
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