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Touch with your own hands the wet soil

Of the black gardens of deceit,

The awakening seems a resurrection

To find our place in this world.

Dry air-flavored old legends

Although still pass with the wind

Meet the lone and helpless angel

Whose black feathers stand the fall

Hollow of an empty music falls

And holds up the warrior waiting

To perform one last feat

Desert and bleak scene

Xarax, the planet

Of souls absolution moans

With the voice of the cold wind

While trying to break free of it,

Draws a thin line

Between the cruel and kind.

The angel and the warrior look to each other

Realizing if both are, here absolution

Of souls has come to them.