When the last eagle flies,
over the last crumbling mountain
αnd the last lion roars,
at the last dusty fountain.
In the shadow of the forest
though she may be old and worn,
they will stare unbelieving
at the last unicorn.
When the first breath of winter,
through the flowers is icing.
and you look to the north
and a pale moon is rising
and it seems like all is dying
and would leave the world to mourn,
in the distance hear the laughter
of the last unicorn
When the last moon is cast,
over the last star of morning
and the future has passed
without even a last desperate warning.
Then look into the sky,
where through the clouds a path is torn,
look and see her how she sparkles
it's the last unicorn...
