In rolling steppe I found my feet
Brittle grass crunching under my feel
Summer sun low on the horizon
Shadows long in the treeless expanse
A sacred wind blew
Cold, dry, aimless on the plain
I, alone, heard it’s song
Its whispered melody
Bearing down on my like a galloping horseman
Bow drawn, aim steady
Deep into my soul the tune pierced
Its vibrations matched the rhythm of my heart
Throat sung harmony of proud people
Of conquest and empire
Tears and blood
Glory and suffering- bastards alike,
Now unwritten history, sung only on the wind
Fading into the dark of deep winter
Whose specter haunts the vast and empty steppe
