To bright palace of gold sun I fly on flaming steed to steer my father's god wings. O please, fulfill my dream. My queen is the bright-haired sun. Herald young horse master; crescendo the dawn chorus; bow to bronzen pilot; as Pantheon blessed sky father, fly to the gods: few mortals have flown on wings. Fierce idols drive blood sun through black heavens so how shall I dream? I'll weave a new verse each dawn for you. I fear I follow illusion. Is this my final veil? The mirage of the phoenix from ash daily arises.