Glass between me and the stars

they're bright and twinkling in the dark

and sometimes when I've nodded off

I think I've seen a little spark.

My eyes grown old, I can't be sure

but memory still serves me right,

I've seen before, when I was young,

that spark of gold high in the night.

It was the night of my near-death,

when war had almost claimed my soul,

my breath so short, the scent of blood,

and death was soon to take its toll.

Then brightest light lit up the sky,

from golden towers, arches long,

with wings of freedom, tempting beauty,

whispering a timeless song

of joy, of hope, serenity;

a story, though its end felt nigh;

of how to give and how to love

and first of all of times gone by.

A heaviness still weighs on me

as I recall that City's gold

an ancient place that must have been

ages ago already old.

I wonder now, what did it mean,

for memories have dulled with time,

yet close to death this song returns,

its ending could as well be mine.