When The Last Eagle Flies

Over The Last Crumbling Mountain

And 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