Their cities are populated by ghosts with given voices
And the air rings with the sounds of far away places
Their skies are lined with the paths that were blazed
And were it all measured, what they left behind is vapor
Stoking the fires of their ships they sailed away
Saying, 'Burn, burn' to the glowing embers
With a few final footsteps falling, fading fast
Just another ghost pining away, calling for its master
They haunt the empty rooms of the cities
But also the tall trunks of the triumphant tract
Having driven away the invaders, victorious at last.














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