I still carry the burthen of my swarm,
Thus decieved, still flying towards north
A newborn bird is born upon these skies, in motion, in flight
Again decieved, again relieved, again in stillness, tonight
This misbegotten moonlight flit revealed deception,
As we were in motion, in flight
Flanked by snowstorm, like a verloren hoop,
We art still flying towards north