When the moon strikes on the sky
And the clouds wave in a breeze
Of ecstasy, that's where the vigilant eye
Of the warrior prepares the fight.
The next day he will wake
Under the cheering public that hollers
For his great achievements,
And he must not let them die.
Fly, O mighty heart, and make
The cold souls warm and gentle,
Because in your nature is to put
A smile on the face of rainbows
And to let your guests taste
The sweet red syrup of your life.