Hark! I could wield a sword,
Flaming from the passion of ancestors.
My eyes could be a dull blue,
Piercing as the knives that shed my blood.

Hark! My name would weigh heavy on minds,
Either hero to my forgotten brethren of that Mystic Island,
Or crafty rebel, a heavy blow to those invaders,
A banner for their foes to rally to.

Hark! I could restore this land to gold
The fields my empty canvas where I paint,
The paint would fill our tables
The paint would heal land’s scars.

Hark! We can take back this beauty
We can restore it to ourselves
For in my dreams I see my home
It is this place, but golden!

But Hark! I fear dreams they remain to me
For though I am passionate,
I am oceans removed and centuries behind
But there was a day I might have claimed.

A thousand years ago, a thousand leagues away
I might have saved our home,
Those that make best rebels are not defending homes,
But those rebels defend a memory.