The Old Grist Mill

Led through the mist
By the milk light of the moon
All that was lost
Is revealed
Our long bygone burdens
Mere echoes of the spring
But where have we come
And where shall we end
If dreams can't come true
Then why not pretend

Oh, how the gentle wind
Beckons through the leaves
As autumn colors fall

Somewhere lost in the clouded annals of history lies a place that few have seen. A mysterious place, called the "Unknown." Where long forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the woods.