The storm calls forth the seas,
A figure stands, alone,
A miracle observed by none.

Turn, turn,
Sweet one, you control the winds,
The havoc’s mistress is gentle of heart.

Lyrical nonsense,
For what is nothing without something.
But something is the sweetest shine

Brought forth from blissful meadows
Surrounded by dark depths
An endless gaze of those who have long since quieted.

Softly now,
Even the hardest of things can be quickly
Broken

Even though she is alone,
Her gaze can make nations fall
And her steel can rebuild them.

Her potential was hidden,
Stolen,
Until she herself could find it.

Now nature is under her control
Storms sing for her Will
and Waves clash to be the one that touches her feet.

And still, silent she will be,
For no one but she need know,
The strength from within.