This morning, when the moon was falling,
my love, he rose and began on a tiring journey.
My love, it seems, has started a quest.
To provide a service that none else can do best.
He's gone to hell.
His hands will burn and his fingers will lightnen.
Covered in a substance so rotten.
He will lift hot heavy metal and create with his bare hands.
All the while I wonder, where is my love's mind?
Where does he go, while he toils and strains?
Does he yearn to come back to me again?
I wait and watch, and wonder when he will return.
I know he will be back, but I cant shake the feeling of loss.
Not until he's in my arms again, will I be able to consider this worth the cost.
He's out there doing his best to survive.
He's out there in the wilderness, amongst all the evil.
I look out the window and yearn to call his name.
So he will know how to get back to me again.
My love, he has gone to hell.
I wait for this return.
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