Alas, there are things that reach the sky,
that reach the sky, and does not die,
alas, if there's no lullaby
for things that are not you and I,
perhaps there is no other song?
Maybe, we do not quite belong?

Oh quiet, I did quite believe
in things that don't give birth and thieve,
this Earth is not so treacherous
to bring things just to steal from us,
and if these things are for another
oh brother, why then truly bother?

I climb forth in these foreign lands
on but the burden of my hands
and if their painting won't portray
the sailing of another day,
perhaps then, I have failed,
but failed, and yet prevailed.

To climb these things, to reach afar
towards the warnings of a star
is yet to reach a sky,
for skies are born to die
as things that reach the sky.