Long, long lies the yellow road, broad is the gold and black back of Oroboros.
Steel sighs as we trace the land under the sun and moon.
The weak old touch of ashes burns like lye, stings like saltpeter.
Burn and blood and steel,
Long, long lies the back of sleeping Oroboros.
Snake sleeps in the sun, under the cold moon,
Dreaming, dreaming the stories of the world
As we run upon his back.
All stories end, written or unwritten.
We run upon the road, chasing the head of Oroboros.
When we wake him, will he feel fire, taste ash, hear steel hiss hot with steam?
Will Oroboros speak?
When the story ends, was anyone listening?
Rides he, ride we, chasing the head of Oroboros.
Ride I with steel in hand and heart
To sever the head of Oroboros,
To see the world unbound.
Let linen shine,
Let threads from loooms unwind,
In the steam of the blood of Oroboros.
Sigh, sigh upon the broad black road,
Hurrying under the sun and the pale moon,
Bearing, bearing steel and strife and sorrow.
Tracks of ash and burning
Ink the gold-striped back of Oroboros.
Ride I rides he ride we over the black and yellow back of Oroboros,
Lightly treading, softly speaking, wary-resting,
To no account known to none but us,
For our hastening grave, none.
For our marker, weeds and rust,
Rust scattered by the back of dreaming Oroboros.