I'm on the run, thinking of you,
wishing that you were right here too.
Thinking of sharing your warmth with me,
Because we're always meant to be.
I'm not thinking of the current war;
Thinking instead of making our hearts soar.
Flying on, not silver, but golden wings,
To the stars all the way in Yoldenhin.
And these wings, they capture hearts,
but not the type you find in marts.
Their golden hue shall shimmer and shine
But their gentle glory will never blind.
Now these wings are still growing,
But come December they will all be glowing.
You just have to wait and see, my dear,
The time of my return is really, really near.