Words from the storyteller

My child, I know you are not a child
But I see you running wild
Between those flowering trees.
Your sparkling dreams, your silver laugh

Your wishes to the stars above
Are just my memories.
And in your eyes the ocean
And in your eyes the sea

The waters frozen over
With your longing to be free.

Yesterday you'd awoken
To a world incredibly old.
This is the age you are broken
Or turned into gold.

I didn't say the world was good.
I hoped by now you understood
Why I could never lie.
I didn't promise you a thing.
Don't ask my winter voice for spring
Just spread your wings and fly.

Though in the hidden garden
Down by the green green lane
The plant of love grows next to
The tree of hate and pain.

So take my tears as a token.
They'll keep you warm in the cold.
This is the age you are broken
Or turned into gold.

You've lived too long among us
To leave without a trace
You've lived too short to understand
A thing about this place.

Some of us here just sit smoking
And some are already sold.
This is the age you are broken
Or turned into gold...

-  Antonia Michaelis