the hermit's blues, a blind man's dye
preserves deep down in the ponds
the fogs arise, no use for eyes
to hear this music in the dawn
the fire of love for single soul
it burns the wood and lively grace
creates what could be human face
which has no judgement for his foul
in rapid flow of waterfalls
with nature's mistery in sight
in light of golden season's moon
the howls of forest in the night
will blow through miles across the sky
spread chilling cold throughout space
and he'll be looking at its face
and time will go on by
the hermit's blues, a blind man's dye
it's hidden somewhere in the ponds
the fogs will rise, and human eyes
will see this music in the dawn
