Call to the wind, blowing o're the endless moor.
Call to the wind, that fickle wind, which never answers back.
See the bird of wisdom soar,
the sun gleaming off it's ebony plumage.
See it ride the wanton wind, claiming it's mastery.
The elegance of it's velvet splendor, dark as night,
Stands witness to the creative bounty of Nature's self.
Of Gaea, ever gracious, ever harsh.
So call to the wind, wise bird.
Call to it, and it will answer.
