Lyrics
The wind whispers secrets through the tall grass blades,
A symphony for nomads, a language that pervades.
But tonight, the hunter, eyes filled with a storm,
Hears only the echo of a deed yet to be born.
Beneath a sky spangled with a million burning eyes,
He kneels by the fire, guilt a serpent that ties.
No gazelle this trophy, no lion brought low,
But a deed of darkness, a forbidden flow.
A stranger, a plea, a glint of stolen gold,
A struggle, a silence, a story left untold.
The weight of the plunder, a burning in his chest,
A sin against the desert, a nomad put to the test.
The firelight dances on a face etched with shame,
Honor, his compass, twisted out of frame.
Survival's a harsh mistress, a whisper in the night,
But the moon knows his secret, bathing him in cold light.
The drums of the tribe beat a rhythm in his head,
Ancestral voices murmuring, the words of the dead.
Will they cast him out, a pariah on the plains?
Or will forgiveness rise like the desert's gentle rains?
He packs up his burdens, the silence a heavy cloak,
Leaving tracks in the sand, a story yet to be spoke.
The wind carries whispers, a tale for the dunes to keep,
Of a nomad and his darkness, a haunting while he sleeps.
The drums of the tribe beat a rhythm in his head,
Ancestral voices murmuring, the words of the dead.
Will they cast him out, a pariah on the plains?
Or will forgiveness rise like the desert's gentle rains?
He packs up his burdens, the silence a heavy cloak,
Leaving tracks in the sand, a story yet to be spoke.
The wind carries whispers, a tale for the dunes to keep,
Of a nomad and his darkness, a haunting while he sleeps.
