The Ancient Palaces of Barian

I wander the brown hills
of this dry dreary land
where no flower blooms
in the dull grey sand,

I see silver'd snow
on mountaintops high
where ancient palaces
once reached to the sky;

I look for adventure
in the crisp cold air,
but there's only barrenness
wherever I stare,

I find only sadness
wherever I roam
on this dead planet
so far from home;

Where are the beings
who built this fair place?
There is no answer,
for they're a dead race.

Stormy's words:  grey sands crisp silver dry adventure brown hills