Through the gates of Damascus, the journey begins,
where dust on the wind speaks of old trade winds.
Through the gates of Damascus, the winds carry me,
on a golden road, where romance meets the sea.
Toward Samarkand, where the merchants from Cathay,
meet in Tartary’s fields at the break of day.
A journey to Samarkand, with merchants from afar,
From Cathay’s bright cities, under the same star.

The Silk Road hums with the whispers of lore,
A river of stories, forevermore.
In the air, the scent of spices and myrrh,
Each step a discovery, each shadow a blur,
Of faces and places both distant and near,
The unknown is ahead, yet we hold no fear.
For the road is adventure, the road is the quest,
To seek what is hidden, to find what is blessed.

In the night, I dream of my homeland castle,
Where Venus held court, in love’s endless battle.
On a prayer rug spread, I recall Princess Daphine,
Her beauty is a legend, like Leda or Nicolette’s sheen.
Romance walks with us, her veil drawn low,
Venus, Daphine, Leda, all aglow—
Their eternal beauty, transcendent, and pure,
A mystery of love we’ll forever endure.

From myth to myth, we dream as we roam,
in search of the stories that feel like home.
Through dim Arcadian pastures, the faun softly plays,
A ballad of whispers, from forgotten days.
But like the dead, their stories grow pale—
For the dead tell no tales, no wind fills their sail.
Yes, in dim Arcadian pastures, a faun softly plays,
but the notes of his tune begin to decay,

Like memories lost to the passage of time,
adventures forgotten, no reason, no rhyme.
For what is now grand may soon fade to pale,
As was said the dead tell no tales.
The Pedler walks by, with treasures in hand,
tales of a visionary romantic, chasing winds in the sand.

In the distance, I hear songs of the ungirt contenders
the free-spirited ladies, lithe as summer thunders.
Still, onward we chase these impossible dreams,
through lands and legends, rivers and streams,
vital in youth, but bound by the flow,
of time’s quiet whisper—what we cannot know.
Yet beauty persists, like a song from afar,
An alien tune beneath a bright star.

In Tartary’s fields, the winds shift once more,
to where the dancing seal swirls on the shore.
Beneath a sky where the Chinese nightingale sings,
I drift like a shadow on these foreign wings.
Samarkand gleams with the wisdom of old,
A city of treasures, of stories untold.
Yet the journey within is just as profound,
where memory lingers, and lost tales are found.

For beauty, adventure, and love intertwine,
in the hearts of all who still seek the divine.
What secret pastures, lost and unknown,
held love like a jewel, and sorrow like stone?
But this is my journey, I follow the trail,
romance in the distance, as the stars turn pale.
So we walk through the ages,
where myth becomes real,
where the past touches the present,
and scars start to heal.

Though time may be fleeting, and stories may end,
beauty and wonder will forever transcend.
For the traveler knows, as the legends all say,
that those who seek meaning will find it one day.
Through the gates of Damascus, to Samarkand’s glow,
an eternal journey—through all we may know.
Through the gates of Damascus, the journey begins,
Where dust on the wind speaks of old trade winds.