If everyone listened to a little Eric Whitacre everyday, the world would be a much better place.
Translation:
Gold,
Tarnished and dark,
Singing of night,
Singing of death,
Singing itself to sleep.
And an angel dreams of sunrise,
And war.
Tears of the ages.
O shield!
O gilded blade!
You are too heavy to carry,
Too heavy for flight.
Gold,
Tarnished and weary,
Awaken!
Melt from weapon to wing!
Let us soar again,
High above this wall;
Angels reborn and rejoicing with wings made
Of dawn,
Of gold,
Of dream.
Gold,
Singing of wings,
Singing of shadows.
