They sleep in dreams of desert suns, 
the ancient wyrms, the accursed ones. 

Their minds keep silent, deep in dread, 
while closed old eyes, see plains of red.

The fires that once did burn so bright, 
now swiftly fade into the night.

New mountains slide to ancient plains
and memories see forgotten veins.

A heartfelt sigh of discontent 
for youthful lives too quickly spent.

Today, tomorrow, a time foretold, 
with each passing day, a day grown old.

Their fires still burn, but not so bright, 
as each old wyrm falls into the night.

A passing thing of fear so great, 
the hated ones have earned their fate.

Yet man must not the dragons pan, 
for once the wyrms were just like man.

Their fire lit eyes have grown too dim, 
their long days done, their nights begin

A silver moon adorns their scales,
 their thoughts of youth, now old and frail.

Once time was theirs to twist and turn, 
now time itself twists and takes its turn.

Smoke dimmed cities rise again 
while first born sons to death descend.

All will be, as once it was, 
and dragon scales will turn to doves.

The old must pass and let the new 
reach for stars above the blue.

To live forever is not to be, 
each dragon's fate will be its destiny.

When time at last doth stand so still, 
the dragon's curse will have its fill.

They sleep on clouds of desert heat,
 where ancient dreams softly sleep.

Their darkened hearts have turned to stone 
as the last old dragon flies alone.

The others slip into the night.  
A lonely dragon stills his flight.

He sheds a tear for what has been, 
as father time reaches for him.

A silent tear for times of old, 
the dragon seeks its rest foretold,

To join at last the first great kin, 
to be at last where they have been.

His flesh will rot and blow away 
as all his bones turn to clay.

And there will be naught left of him, 
but clear blue days where once his kin,

Did dance on wings in sunlit skies, 
and hear the fear in mankind's cries.

So now the last one sleeps alone 
and dreams of journeys to his home.

Still, man will not in stories told, 
forget the wings, and dragons bold.

Which came to him out of the sun, 
and burned his houses, one by one.

Of maidens fair and knights so bold 
and remembered stories will still be told.

The last old dragon will shiver and shake, 
turn in his grave and try to wake.

Yet modern man in vanity, 
will come to know the insanity,

That rode the winds on wings of gold 
and ruled the earth in times of old.

When men laid hand to sword and bow 
and faced the wrath of ancient foes.

Where women scream and grown men cry, 
it's time to fight, or time to die.

The memories fade to stories old, 
of ancient days and piles of gold.

Yet all of those who once did rule, 
with breaths of flame and talons cruel,

They sleep in dreams of days of old, 
the ancient ones, and dragon's gold.

In days to come, they'll rise again,
and lift their wings on storm cloud winds.

While eggs they laid have lain so long, 
their breaking shells will sound like songs,

Of old cruel deeds and heartless rules, 
to strike down men and other fools.

Those who sought to laugh in vain, 
at dragon gold and dragon pain,

Will now the dragons birth regret, 
and fall into a fearful sweat.	

Where once the dragon's wings did beat, 
the cold blue skies will scream and weep.

Mankind will come at last to know, 
that deep beneath the frozen snow.

The dragon lays, all made of gold, 
and fills her dreams with thoughts of old,

When once again the dragon roars, 
and mankind leaves  for distant shores.

Yet here on Earth there is no place 
where dragons breath will leave no trace.

For mankind forgot all he knew, 
of wooden shafts and bows of Yew.

Magic walked the path of loss 
and science won the ancient toss,

Of coins so bright and shiny new, 
into the air where dragons flew.

And once again the skies will fill, 
with dragons wings, and burning will.

To rend and reap the world of man, 
and laugh in flames like dancing fans.

The sky is theirs to have and hold 
'til darkness calls the dragon old.

When at last the dragons sleep, 
the days long gone when women weep,

For husbands killed by dragon's breath, 
and children lost in flames of death.

The sun will shine on seas of gold, 
and men will tell the stories old,

Where force of arms and magic bold, 
did lay the dragon down in gold,

And each will tell that he did slay 
a hundred dragons every day.

But when the snows of winter melt 
and creatures shed their furry pelt,

Then will men in deepest dread, 
see dragon's flames of blazing red,

And whisper in fearful night 
of dragons gold and dragons flight,

That none did see when they were young 
the golden dragon in the sun.

Where what she did with one long breath
would send the world unto its death.

At last will be but only one, 
the ancient wyrm, the accursed one,

Who sleeps on piles of rusted gold, 
and dreams the dreams of dreams foretold.