And now the last green leaves
Of the North wind in the east fall
On the Royal Host…
Before they set out from the hall,
And then the dead eyes of morning
Glimmert forth in the east
Like red caressed eyes of a bride.
Still, maybe there's hope for us yet.
We knew the wolves of Autumn,
And we drank their blood like we'd drink roses…
And there's things yet to be seen,
Or at least I think there