The last surviving hunter men
Have now regrouped and move again
As yet unseen, as yet unheard
But clear as any spoken word
She sensed them closing from behind

So with a devil's reckless grin 
She changes shape and checks the wind
And like so many times before
Toward the river's western shore
She flies, the last one of her kind

She flies, she flies, she flies...

The shapes that flicker through the trees
Are darker than they ought to be
Her footsteps silent in the snow
At last she comes to riverside
Black ice a quarter-mile wide
The rapids deadly deep below

She stills her heart and clears her mind
Four hundred steps, one at a time
Impatience tempts the careless soul
To hell with fates and their demands
Her life lies solely in her hands		
Slow-moving grace and self-control

And she puts her faith in Crisis
As all water-walkers do
Balanced on the frozen wavelets
Stares unstirring surface through
For Crisis is serenity
This calm the crisp embrace
Of the longest-fallen angel
Deep in stasis granting grace

Slipping through the frozen reeds
She finds the foothold that she needs
And laughter finally splits the air
You choose to play, you play to win
And when the ice is getting thin
You've got to take the devil's dare

Someday will come a final chase
For every love a last embrace
And for each song a parting rhyme
Another sunrise running free
Who knows how many there will be
A thousand years, one at a time