In every storm, there is a light;
A flood of color on the horizon.
It sings to us, the weary souls,
The inhabitants of stretching darkness.
We follow it, the glimmer-light
Until we see the sharp edge of the world.
There we must choose to love ourselves,
Or lose our identity in the dark.
Standing at the very threshold
Of madness and hope and all things gruesome,
We have a chance to make things right,
To restore the whole of humanity.