As the wheels of time turns round and round,
and the people fall under the curse of its yoke,
when dreams are lost and hopes are stilled,
where then lie the spirit of the people?

We are the people of hope,
our tales of fairies,
our spirit of lions,
our love of life.

When the monotonous pace of life consumes itself,
when joy and laughter are no more,
as the earth trembles and weeps for her people,
in what lies our faith and spirit?

We cling to those tales, those magnificent legends
of an ending with happily ever after,
of golden princes and princesses
basking in full glory undimmed.

As civilization follows civilization into ruins,
to what token of hope do we cling to?
To the tombs of kings filled with gold,
or to the stories and tales of heroes long passed.

We are the children of hope,
and we will hold on,
to the stuff of fairies,
to our fairy tales.