I wonder what life claims the
White planet, what hidden cities
Dot its surface.
Its continents span the quaint ball,
Peaceful and quiet and uninhabited.
Long have its secrets been sought after,
Long has its terrain been trampled
By the eyes of men, who dream of
Walking the land of white.
A sweet dream indeed.
Everybody is looking for something,
And when love dies with the
Unbeating heart,
Who can blame the living man for
Searching beyond himself?
But perhaps the fated secret that
Lies just beyond the light of the moon,
Is that everything is to go, just as it came.
That everything begun
Must simply end.
