[Part 1] The first week of August, the final dawn breaks. Brass throats of roosters compel the grim march. Bidding farewell to the brief, dying night, We walk toward the star that was too slow to flee. Footsteps dragging like heavy lead over the earth. [Part 2] The ocean wears the face of the sea, Glaring in silence at the devouring flame. A clerk of lost hours whispers in my ear: "You are failing this trial, there is time to turn back." But I looked in the void—no saviors were there. No heroes were there. [Part 3] Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst. Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst. Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst. The phantoms of heroes dance a frantic rondo. Crowns of colossal blooms woven in their hair. Speaking geometries, screaming at the dark. Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst. Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst. Bathed in the flash of a midnight stellar burst.
