O flora, of the moon, of the dream. O little ones, O fleeting will of the ancients. Let the hunter be safe, let her find comfort. And let this dream his captor, foretell a pleasant awakening. Be one day, a fond, distant memory.
I must’ve drifted off.
I, I can’t remember, not a thing… only, I feel…
Let me stand close, now shut your eyes. It all seems, so long ago now. Of course, I do love you.
