SO, ZILYA, YOU CAME SO FAR, BORN IN, THE URAL MOUNTAINS, WHERE UNICORNS, AND WATERFALLS, DESCEND LIKE GENTLE FOUNTAINS
THE RUSSIAN, WINTER, NORTHERN STORMS, LIKE A FEARSOME, WAILING TRAIN, BUT, YOU CAN ALMOST TOUCH THE STARS, AND FEEL THE WARMTH, OF THEIR EMBRACE
THE TAMPA SKYLINE BROKEN DAWN. A HOT AND HUMID GLIMMER, THE MADDENED TRAFFIC LUMBERS ON, DROWNING IN THE SUMMER
UNAWARE, THE CUTTING KNIFE, BLIND, BENEATH THE SLAUGHTER, BUT, HOW CAN ONE, IN THIS FALLEN LIGHT, WALK ABOVE THE WATER?
SO, I DO WONDER, ZILYA, ARE YOU HERE TO STAY? AND ALSO, WONDER, ZILYA, WHY YOU EVER WENT AWAY?
BUT, ONE DAY, ZILIA, YOU WILL RETURN, TO THAT SACRED PLACE, TO GRASP AGAIN, THOSE BLAZING STARS, AND THE WARMTH OF THEIR EMBRACE
FOR WHERETO, ONE DAY, TO RETURN, TO THAT SACRED PLACE, WHERE ONE CAN SURELY TOUCH THE STARS, AND BE HALLOWED IN THEIR GRACE
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