So it makes you think of summers end, the time of year when sprites attend

The congregation of the dying vine, weaving a shroud of the passing time

If you ever wonder why it turns, the wheel that burns, the stone that querns

Our movement is the key to change, and the change of the movement is the key to the strange

Waiting in five rooms of sorrow, wondering which way to follow

Which way to follow, in these rooms of sorrow

Walking in the vale, the vale of whispers, woefully I wait within the cave of the sisters -

I'm captured in a trap of tricksters

If you ever wondered why the vale is there, filled with hopelessness and despair

Like the turning of the tide, old necessities rule here

The game was on, so long before the flickering eyes of man opened up and saw the prospect of these abundant lands

So it makes you think of summers end, the time of year when sprites attend

The congregation of the dying vine, weaving a shroud of the passing time

The autumnal pantomime

The ancient ones dwells within, and their law is everything

Governs who will be the slave and who will be the king

The water flows from the mountainside and into the eternal sea, washing up the spoils of man, the remnants of both you and me

Our broken promises adrift, we are nothing but debris

Collected by the maelstrom of eternity