歌詞

I can see the wheel is turning

River flowing turbulence

The fog is floating travel to the mountain high

My temple is consciously unconscious sigh

To the warning sign I've seen the sight

Many times it was written in the scrolls

Burning monk was written by nameless noblemen

The sentiment of sediments are questions nature sends

I smell the storm

Sword of Susano cutting Raijin on the top of nature’s dome

Thunder roars

Cracks the spinal cord but I never stop to walk

Never mind the cold

Wherever wind may blow I’m letting the rolling stone

Stop it halt! Like a tree but I was born

With a leg and mind I shall move forward

Make the whistle to a lullaby the rain is but a song

How many hours till the morn ‘till I meet the sun

How many months ’til the cold corrupts the fun

How many years ‘till our souls are no longer shunned?

How many more, how many more, how many more?

The clock is ticking the back of my neck is itching

From mosquito bites

Only those who carry heritage need blood the rite

The night is only temporary so is light

Sun and moon can never be bright in time but I mean that’s alright

'Cause what would I do if the moon has got to move into a room

With another woman her womb will be looking like him too

Dig a hole, that’ll be her tomb

Only Sun can rise

A few fluorescent flower starts to fight and bloom

How many hours till the morn ‘till I meet the sun

How many months ’til the cold corrupts the fun

How many years ‘till our souls are no longer shunned?

How many more, how many more, how many more?

‘Cause every step gets harder climbing up nature’s rock ladder

Testing my cowardice, patience, my virtue don’t meet the standards

Wind is blowing from all directions, affection to nature Im holding tight

On the branches the divine are the vines

Are my feet and the lines on the trees that point the sky

And where the mind aims to be and seeks the life before another birth

What it meant to live on this planet the life on earth

Tribulations and the trials but not in denial

How many hours till the morn ‘till I meet the sun

How many months ’til the cold corrupts the fun

How many years ‘till our souls are no longer shunned?

How many more, how many more, how many more?