The Last Unicorn
When the last eagle flies,
over the last crumbling mountain,
and the last lion roars,
at the last dusty fountain.
In the shadow of the forest,
though she may be old and worn,
they will stare unbelieving at the last unicorn.
When the first breath of winter,
Through the flowers is icing,
and you look to the north,
and a pale moon is rising.
And it seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn,
in the distance hear the laughter
of the last unicorn:
I'm alive, I'm alive.
When the last moon is cast,
over the last star of morning,
and the future has passed,
without even a last desperate warning.
Then look into the sky where through,
the clouds of path is formed,
look and see her how she sparkles,
it's the last unicorn.
I'm alive, I'm alive.
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