My lief es far en londe
The sea has bounds, desire none
Spirit all compact of fire
Dance on the sands, tonight

Your lips are conquerors
Your lips are filled with lies

Lost, lost in what seems
That’s how it should be
Who, who is to see?
We write in water
Now

Touch me under this sinking sky
I can command the smile
Be stirring as the time
Be fire with fire, with fire

Your lips are conquerors
Your lips are filled with lies

Lost, lost in what seems
That’s how it should be
Who, who is to see?
We write in water
Now

Lost, lost in what seems
That’s how it should be
Who, who is to see?
We write in water

Lost, lost in what seems
That’s how it should be
Who, who is to see?
We write in water

— from Ardor, 1994