When the last eagle flies
over the last crumbling mountain
at the last dusty fountain
In the shadow of the forest
though she may be old and worn
They will stare unbelieving
When the first breath of winter
through the flowers is ic ing
And you look to the north
and a pale moon is ris ing
And it seems like all is dying
and would leave the world to mourn
In the distance hear the laughter
When the last moon is cast
over the last star of morning
And the future has passed
without even a last desperate warning
where through the clouds a path is torn
Look and see her how she sparkles,
