Imprints in the Soul
Sorrow marches in with heavy feet
Trampling over gentle valleys
Snorting fire from evil places
In step with the wailing winds
Utopian dreams go back into hiding
All hope is but a wilting flower
Pain is an ugly garden of sand
A futile desert running to the abyss
Joy only needs a glimpse of paradise
The aroma of sweet jasmine in the air
It fills every crevasse, every empty dream
Enough to bring hope to the surface again
Joy is from a wandering plea
That brought it home
A hope restored and a broken spirit mended

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