The midnight stars are dwindling,
Death is on the way,
People sit, awaiting,
Not daring to disobey.

The stars are waiting, quiet,
dying slow and burning Death,
People, though know nothing,
Won't try to disobey.

Fire burning low, dying in the cold,
People thinking so,
shivering, yet the sun's still gold,
Not one looks around, none dares to defy.

The waiting's long, so long -
too much!
But how could it be changed?
It's all too strange, too alien, too harsh - not in its
place.

And if the Fire should die? What then?
Could they still survive?
None knows, and thus,
None dares to try...

And if the stars are dead, are gone?
What then? What should they do?
-To try and fight is useless!
They won't get so low...


And after midnight passes...
And when the stars are gone...
And when the Fire dwindles...
Shall it all be gone?