In the vault of the shadowed sky, in the echo of a whispered sigh, the hollow chronicles sigh, the hollow chronicles sigh...
They are tales woven in the twilight, stitched with stars that never fade, never fade, never fade...
The moon, a whisper in the night, sends beams that dance with ethereal light, with ethereal light, they dance...
Across the barren lands they wander, across the barren lands they ponder, they ponder and they whisper tales untold, tales untold.
In the labyrinth of hollow dreams, where the echo of silence softly gleams, softly gleams, softly gleams...
There lie the chronicles of ages old, the stories of the brave, the stories bold, the stories told and retold.
The river of time flows without end, without end, without end...
Through valleys of whispers and fields of dreams, where the hollow chronicles bend, where the hollow chronicles mend...
They are the echoes of what has been, and what will be, and what will be.