Golden are the leaves that fall,
Though silver ‘neath the moon they seem;
Falling from the ancient ones
That drink their life from ancient stream.
And quietly though the water flows,
THe strong ones of the world still know
That evil lurks in the deep.

For woods of olden days grow bare.
They’ve lost the light once glittering there.
And shadows crawl beneath the ground
To weaken roots from light’s first seed.
A darkness comes, stronger it grows
It seeps through ground, it flys through air.
How passes it unchallenged
In these heavy glades of green?

Did not fair ones once freely roam
To heal the trees with voices bright?
Protecting this, their ancient home,
With swinging sweet at cold midnight?
What then to make these fair ones flee,
To fly so fleetly cross the land?
What dark futures did they see?
And from what dark and sinister hand
Could shadows come to conquer these
Fair Ones,
Immortals of the Trees?

The forest once was strong, and gold,
But now it pales, and it grows old,
With out a soul to hear its pain.
It feels the shadow come.
It feels the evil grow.
And how long can its spirit stand,
A broken, weary spirit stand,
‘Gainst such a dark and terrible foe?

And so the trees let gold leaves fall,
Though silver ‘neath the moon, leaves seem.
Yet dying are the ancient ones
That drink their life from ancient stream.
So slowly does the water flow,
The old ones of the world must know
That evil lurks in the deep.