Lyrics
[Spoken]
"On a moon with no name that anyone remembers...
there is a lake that should not exist.
Liquid, where nothing should be liquid.
Warm, where nothing should be warm.
And every year... they return to it.
We call them the Vol'novan Flamingos,
though flamingo is only the closest word we have.
Their feathers are not pink from what they eat.
They are pink from where they have been.
Because these birds do not stay on the moon.
They fly.
Not through air — there is no air here to catch a wing.
They fly through nothing at all.
No one has explained how.
The wings move as if there is resistance.
As if they are pushing against something invisible.
Perhaps they are.
Between the stars, they travel in long, curving lines,
never straight, always drifting,
like a single thought stretched across the dark.
Some say they follow the old light —
light that left its star so long ago,
the star itself no longer exists.
They fly toward ghosts.
When they return to the lake, they arrive together.
Thousands, descending in perfect unison,
as if one mind moved a thousand bodies.
And they dance.
Long necks curving in mirrored patterns,
a choreography with no choreographer,
rehearsed by no one,
forgotten by none.
Some have watched this dance for decades
and still cannot say where it begins,
or where it ends.
Only that when it is finished...
the lake is a little pinker than before.
As if the color itself is a kind of memory,
left behind by every wing that touched the sky.
They will leave again before the season turns.
Out into the nothing.
Toward the light of stars already gone.
And the moon will wait.
Quiet. Patient.
The way you wait for a song
you already know is coming back.