Frozen in the blinking eye, 
Remains the silent past, 
For what can be of letters, 
On the sea-swept beach's shore, 

For as the night went missing, 
On the stairs cast downward still, 
The fellowship remains, 
Yet there the prison is no more. 

With angels softly weeping, 
On the harp strings played in time, 
Their tears become the water, 
Of the rivers long and vast, 

Yet frozen is the water, 
From what happened at the shore, 
The one who finds this message, 
Surely look into your past.