When the last eagle flys over the last crumbling mountain
When the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain
Look up to the sky where the path is torn
They will stare unbelieving at the last unicorn.
When the first breath of winter though the flower is icing
when you look to the north and the pale moon is rising
and it seems that all is dying and will leave the world to mourn in the distance hear her laugter
its the last unicorn im alive im alive .
W
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