Title: Dreamers on the Rise
Author: Cropper
Pairing: GSR
Rating: Mature for Profanity, Graphic Imagery, and Adult Situations
Disclaimer: See Prologue
A/N: Thanks to Cheryl for the outstanding beta work on the G/S relationship snippets and holding my hand through some of the more intimate moments.
Summary: " The disappointed one speaks. I searched for great human beings; I always found only the apes of their ideals." The Twilight of the Idols - Freidrich Nietzsche
Chapter Five
There Was Set Before Me A Mighty Hill
There was set before me a mighty hill,
And long days I climbed
Through regions of snow.
When I had before me the summit-view,
It seemed that my labor
Had been to see gardens
Lying at impossible distances.
Stephen Crane
"Jesus said, 'Grapes are not harvested from thorns, nor are figs gathered from thistles, for they do not produce fruit. A good man brings forth good from his storehouse; an evil man brings forth evil things from his storehouse, which is in his heart, and says evil things. For out of the abundance of his heart he brings forth evil things.' "
The Gospel of Thomas (45)
How the mighty have fallen. First your God, now your false idols. I have slain your prothlesizers, those who educate in ancient texts and dusty words no longer applicable to the new world I have created. I have beheaded your false prophets, those to frightened to accept that He was dead and that His words no longer have meaning. I have crucified your judges, those who deign to pass sentence on those striving to overcome a doomed and wretched society. I have destroyed all that you held close to your heart and still you do not see.
You have turned instead to graven idols, blasphemous images of self-vanity and misplaced pride. You seek meaning in outer flesh alone, never unveiling the tortured, pus-filled soul that pulses with a rancid stench that festers just below the gold-burnished surface. I stand before you, my shimmering vestments frighteningly perfect in all of its vast imperfections, and still you do not see.
They will die, these graven idols, just as your Gods and holy icons have died before them. I will annihilate all that you trust, all that you love, so that you may see. I have the one pure soul. I am the One. I am the Way. I am your only salvation.
Red Lion has come.
Fear me.
"Okay, Officer Cephas. This is an informal session, we are just having a little conversation here, but you still have the right to have your Union Rep present," began Brass, pausing to click on a tape recorder. "We found something at the latest kidnapping scene that I want to run past you."
Brass and Cephas were in an interrogation room and Grissom and Sara were watching from behind the two-way glass. Cephas leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his firm abdomen, seemingly unconcerned about the proceedings. He was dressed casually as he had been called in on his night off and it was fairly obvious that he had been planning a night on the town. He was wearing a form-fitting foam green polo shirt that set off his deep tan and restless emerald eyes to perfection and a pair of faded Levis that looked as if they had been painted on. He wore a large gold crucifix on a thick serpentine chain. He absently fiddled with the religious icon as Brass continued to establish the ground rules of the chat.
Sara had given J. J. a thoroughly appreciative once-over when he entered the room, earning her a raised eyebrow from Grissom as he took a sip of his coffee. "Guess he wants everyone to know that he's been circumcised," was her only comment. Grissom nearly choked, hastily wiping his chin with the back of his hand as the coffee trickled into his beard. She shot him a mischievous grin before they both returned their attention to the interview.
"I'm just going to cut right to the chase here." Brass was not interested in beating around the bush. He wanted to get this over and done with so that he could return his attention to the missing Judge. "CSI Sidle found a coffee cup near the spot where Judge Simmons was last seen right before she was kidnapped. The DNA along the rim of the cup belongs to you. Care to explain?"
Cephas scrunched his face in confusion. "You've got to be kidding me. Come on, Jimbo."
Outside the room Grissom and Sara shared a humorous look while silently mouthing "Jimbo?" to each other. Cephas certainly had a set of balls on him. Inside, Brass wore a pained expression on his face. "Uh, J. J.? Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, calls me 'Jimbo'. We clear on that?"
"Oh! Sorry, Captain," Cephas said, startled at the rebuke. "But, like I was saying, we are in and out of that courthouse all of the time. I could have dropped that coffee cup or kicked it out of my patrol car weeks ago. I had nothing to do with this other than in an official capacity."
"Official capacity?"
"Yeah, investigating the scene, working my ass off to come up with the evidence we need to get this perp off the street. If I did not drop that cup by accident then somebody is trying to set me up."
"Who would want to frame you for something like this? You have a lot of enemies?"
"Besides the thousands of criminals I have taken off the street? No, I don't have any enemies. I am a really popular guy. Just ask any of the girls at the station. They all love me."
Sara just shook her head in disbelief. "Wow. This guy takes arrogance to a whole new level. He was actually pretty hot until he opened his mouth and shot himself in the foot."
"You think he's hot?" Grissom asked, not fully believing that he had just uttered that statement.
"Well, yeah," she began, "if you are just looking at the outside. He's eye candy."
"Eye candy?"
"You know, easy to look at. But then he talks and reveals just how big a jerk he is. Grissom, the guy's a pig."
"Oh, okay," he replied, not really sure he fully understood what she was saying but willing to accept her explanation at face value. He was not feeling insecure, just trying to figure out how someone so hot could turn so cold so quickly. He cleared his throat. "Am I more attractive when I speak or remain silent?"
Sara was amused by the question. Grissom usually did not ask things like that. "You, babe, are the total package. I'm not sure if you are aware of it or not, but you turn heads every time you walk down the hall. There's just something about you, whether you are talking or not, that makes people pay attention. And when you do speak...? Well, let's just say that it definitely increases your marketability."
Grissom flushed with pleasure, the tips of his ears burning brightly as he offered Sara a shy smile.
Inside the interview room, Cephas continued to assert his innocence. "Hey, I heard Grissom's back. Is that right?"
Brass nodded, his patience starting to wear thin. Talking to J. J. was tiresome and he had about reached the limit of tolerance for the other man's horn blowing.
"He's the man, isn't he? The big CSI stud? Well, get him working on this. Better yet, I'll talk to him myself and tell him to get busy proving that I didn't do this. Clearing me should be his top priority."
"Really," Brass drawled, knowing full well that Grissom was listening to every word. "I'll be sure to tell him that."
"Excuse me, Dr. Grissom?"
Grissom turned away from the blustering Cephas and found Jimmy Matthews clutching a CD.
"Here are the 911 tapes of the arson calls from the courthouse. I thought you'd want them as soon as possible," Jimmy said, presenting the disc to Grissom with a flourish. At that moment, Jimmy's sense of self-importance was only exceeded by that of the officer on the other side of the glass.
"Thank you, Jimmy," Grissom replied politely, reigning in the residual annoyance he felt from J. J.'s last words.
Jimmy turned to observe the conversation between Brass and Cephas.
"He's an ass, you know," spat Jimmy venomously.
Sara was taken aback by the loathing present in his tone. Jimmy was usually very reserved and polite. She had never heard him speak unkindly towards anyone else. "Who? Brass?"
"No, not Captain Brass, Miss Sidle. Officer Cephas. He is a Class A jerk."
"Why do you think that? Did he do something to you?"
Grissom watched the exchange, dividing his attention between Sara and Jimmy and what was going on behind the glass.
"Not recently, no, well, not really," began Jimmy. "We went to high school together. He was one of those idiotic egotistical athletes who thought they were the answer to every girl's dream; a typical BMOC who thought more highly of himself than he should have."
"So, I take it you two weren't friends."
"Far from it. I fell into the group of guys targeted for bullying by Cephas and his pals. The only time he ever noticed me, when he wasn't terrorizing me, of course, was when he needed help with his homework. Then we were best buddies." Jimmy's voice was filled with bitterness as he recalled his high school experiences.
Sara would have questioned him further but Brass and Cephas chose that moment to exit the interrogation room. Jimmy scurried from the hall like a frightened rabbit and Cephas just smiled with satisfaction as he watched Matthews' hasty departure.
Cephas looked from Grissom to Sara. He shifted, turning his back on Grissom in blatant dismissal and smoothly addressed Sara. "Hey there beautiful. What do you say you and I go get a drink? I know this private little place where we can kick back a little and just get to know each other, if you know what I mean."
Grissom rolled his eyes and moved to stand with Brass, both men watching the scene with amusement. Poor Officer Cephas was about to go down in flames like a Zero in the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot.
"I'm sorry, Officer..." Sara began, crossing her arms in front of her chest to discourage Cephas' roving gaze.
"It's J. J.," he interjected smoothly.
"J. J.," she corrected. "I'm involved with someone already. I'm really not interested."
"Oh, come on, doll face. He doesn't have to know. What is one little drink going to hurt? Come on, let's go out, have a drink, do a little dancing, see what happens. Who knows? You'll probably like me better than him." Cephas shrugged modestly. "Most women do."
Sara's hands moved to her waist as her eyes flashed dangerously. The nerve of this asshole! Who the hell did he think he was? "I'm not most women and the chances of me liking you better are slim to none. Besides, my lover," she continued angrily, adding extra emphasis to the term, "already knows you asked me out. He's standing right there." See arched an eyebrow at Grissom. "You coming?"
Grissom flashed Cephas a triumphant grin before shuffling off after Sara.
Cephas turned to Brass. "She's kidding, right? She's seeing that gimpy old dude?"
"She's not kidding and she's doing a whole lot more than seeing, if you catch my drift. Trust me, she's not interested in you or anyone else." Brass started to leave but turned for one parting shot. "Oh, that gimpy old dude? That's Grissom."
Cephas' eyes widened and his tanned skin blanched a ghostly shade of grayish-green. He was seriously screwed and had nobody to blame but himself.
"You're not jealous?" Sara asked as they made their way back to the lab.
"Nope."
"Why not? That guy was totally coming on to me, trying to get me to cheat on you."
"He was."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
Grissom merely shook his head. "Sara, you are a very beautiful woman. Men are always going to look at you, desire you, and wish to claim you as their own. It is a simple fact and one I can neither change nor ignore. However, you have, and always will, follow your heart. Be it fate, destiny or plain old good fortune, I happen to be the lucky man with whom you have chosen to share that amazing aspect of yourself. For that, I will always be exceedingly grateful."
Sara's eyes grew misty. "Gris, that has to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
They walked in silence for a few paces. He bumped her with his shoulder to get her attention. "I like it when you refer to me as your lover," Grissom ventured softly. Sara looked at him as an impish grin crossed his face. Little boy Grissom was about to come out to play. "And you are incredibly beautiful when marking your territory. I would never have guessed that a possessive, chest-thumping cave woman lay lurking beneath your lovely urbane exterior."
"Yeah, well, where you're concerned, babe, I'm always a possessive, chest-thumping cave woman," she retorted saucily, smiling as she bumped back against him. They made their way back to the lab looking like a couple of high school seniors hurrying to their lockers to stow their text books before sneaking off under the bleachers for a quick make out session.
Sara blew out an exhausted breath. "Where do you want to start?"
They were in the layout room, going through the evidence. Grissom did not answer immediately. He was carefully scrutinizing her appearance. He noticed for the first time that she had dark circles under her eyes and was just generally frayed a bit around the edges.
"You're tired," he stated. "I should have sent you home with the others."
"Why didn't you?"
He did not reply and pretended to study the rather gruesome autopsy photo in his hand.
"I wouldn't have gone, you know," she continued quietly.
Grissom raised his eyes to regard her curiously, head cocked to the side, questioning her silently.
"Three reasons," Sara replied. "First, you are going to need some help wading through this stuff," waving a hand to indicate the messy assortment of case files and such strewn haphazardly across the table. "Second, you are just as tired as I am. And third..." She lowered her voice to a near whisper and glanced behind her to make sure that no one was lurking in the hall to overhear what she was about to say. "I'm tired of sleeping alone."
He made a small sound of agreement before turning back to the task at hand. "Let's take things in order, piece by piece, and see what we can come up with."
The first victim of the self-proclaimed Red Lion was Dr. Jonas Garrish, PhD. Originally from Illinois, Dr. Garrish received his undergraduate degree in philosophy from Millikin Univeristy and both his masters and doctorate from the University of Chicago. He was currently the chair of the Philosophy Department and a fully tenured professor at Western LVU. Garrish was married but he and his wife had no children. Cindy Garrish owned and operated a small floral boutique on the strip. While she was categorized as an unrepentant flirt, there were no problems in the marriage. Indeed, the Garrishes were a very happy couple.
He had been kidnapped while returning to his office following an evening business ethics seminar. There were plenty of students in the building, but no viable witnesses. His office had been burned the following day, gasoline used to coat the multitude of books and papers crammed onto wooden shelves. The prevalent theory was that the killer had stashed a couple of spray bottles filled with the common accelerant into an ordinary backpack, blended in with the rest of the student population and slipped into the office unnoticed.
Dr. Garrish had been killed with a single blow to the head. His throat had been cleanly sliced post mortem and his blood drained. Residual adhesive evidence found on his ankles suggested that he had been hanged upside down to bleed out. His hair had been dyed white and face made up to make him appear much older than he actually was.
Reverend Michael Hubbell was an ordained Episcopalian minister from Virginia. He had been serving St. Martin's for the past six years and was well-respected. He was single and the team had been unable to uncover any hint of scandalous behavior in his past. He coached a pee-wee soccer team in his free time and assisted in food drives for the many local homeless shelters.
He had been abducted from the church sanctuary following the close of choir practice. There were no witnesses and none of the church staff or parishioners had noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary. His church office had burned the next day. Gasoline was again used as an accelerant. The church had been undergoing its yearly pest inspection and treatment the day of the arson so it was assumed that the perpetrator had disguised himself to blend in and pumped the gasoline from a tank similar to those used by the exterminators.
Like Dr. Garrish, Reverend Hubbell's skull had also been crushed, most likely by a single blow from a small sledge hammer. He had been completely decapitated and bore the same adhesive residue about his ankles as Dr. Garrish. No make-up had been applied nor had his hair been dyed.
Both victims had been dumped in the desert, arms outstretched, bodies straight, feet crossed to resemble a crucifixion. Next to each body the team had found a Waterford champagne flute, small earthenware basin and a loofah. The goblets tested positive for blood, the basins and loofahs for urine, both belonging to the respective victims. No prints or epithelials were found on the three items and all were readily available for purchase in any number of venues, both local and on-line.
Dr. Garrish had been abducted on Monday, his office torched on Tuesday and his body found on Wednesday. Reverend Hubbell was taken on Thursday, his office burned on Friday and his corpse dumped on Saturday. The killer had then taken Sunday off before grabbing Judge Simmons on Monday. Her office had been set afire on Tuesday morning and Tuesday was now leeching into Wednesday. Time was waning for Judge Simmons.
Sara stood to stretch and was about to ask Grissom if he wanted a refill on his coffee when the rest of the team wandered in. She looked at the clock on the wall, surprised that so much time had passed. She was also happy to note that Greg and Nick were bearing fresh, steaming mugs for both she and Grissom. A simple sniff told her that Nick remembered that she preferred tea and she gave him a soft smile of gratitude while Greg placed the bitter coffee in front of Grissom.
Grissom was so absorbed in his reading that he hadn't noticed the others arrive until the mug appeared by his right hand. The sudden movement startled him and he blinked around owlishly at his team, before returning his attention to his youngest CSI. "Thank you, Greg," he murmured. "That was very thoughtful."
"And it's the good stuff, too. I figured we could all benefit from the secret stash tonight," beamed Greg.
Catherine took in the mess with a practiced eye and knew that the resident workaholics had been very busy. "Did you two make any progress?"
"Maybe," said Sara. "We did not magically uncover anything new and probative but I think Gris has a few ideas about what is going on in the killer's head."
Warrick looked impressed. "Do tell, boss. We could use a little quirky guidance here."
Grissom shot him a good natured glare before offering an explanation. "The victims are random in that they were not taken for who they are so much as what they are. Our Red Lion seems to have serious problems with certain facets of religion and society and has chosen the three victims as representative of all that he either detests or those in which he no longer has faith."
Before he could go into any detail, Nick broke into the conversation. "Did you figure out what the trinkets meant?"
"Trinkets? What trinkets? Nobody mentioned those earlier."
Sara spoke up. "We were just getting to those." She handed Grissom a list of the items that had been found at the kidnapping and desert scenes.
Grissom scanned the list and looked up with a gleam in his eye. "Well, if I am understanding this correctly, these items have nothing to do with the victims and everything to do with the killer. What is Officer Cephas' full name?"
"I'm not sure. Brass just introduced him as J. J. I'm not sure his full name was ever mentioned," said Catherine. "Want me to call Personnel and track it down?"
"Please."
Catherine had a quick conversation with personnel. As she closed her phone she announced, "His full name is John James Cephas. Does that mean something to you?"
Grissom started flipping through notes in a frenzy, muttering "It can't be this easy."
"What can't be this easy?" ventured Greg.
"First victim, Dr. Garrish: an eagle pendant was found at the scene of his kidnapping and a pewter chalice was found with his body. Reverend Hubbell: a fishing pole was left in the church and a fishing lure was placed on his body. There was a rock left on Judge Simmon's trunk."
"Yeah, we know all of that," grumbled Warrick. "What we don't know is what they mean."
"Well, when taken out of context like this, they mean nothing. Put them together and you get John James Cephas."
"What?" The others were stunned.
"I told you that our killer has a background in religion. Just hear me out. The first victim is supposed to be Saint John the Evangelist. He was one of the original twelve disciples of Christ. He is represented in early Christian art with an eagle for the eagle is supposed to signify the heights to which John rose in the first book of his gospel. In later art, around the thirteenth century or so, he was shown with the eagle and a chalice. There are two explanations for the chalice. One seems to be words spoken to him by Christ in the Book of Matthew, 'My chalice indeed shall you drink'. The other has to do with a legend that when presented with a chalice of poisoned wine, James blessed the cup and the poison rose in the shape of a serpent. One other thing. Look at the autopsy photos. Saint John died of old age. That may be the explanation for the theatrical make-up Doc Robbins noted in his report."
"The second victim is a representation of Saint James the Greater. James and John were brothers and Christ called the brothers the 'Boanerges', which means 'sons of thunder'. A fishing pole and fishing lure were found with Reverend Hubbell. James, who was also one of the original twelve disciples, was called by Christ to be a 'fisher of men'. If I remember correctly, I believe that James was beheaded by Herod Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great. Reverend Hubbell was decapitated as well, correct?"
The team nodded in agreement, fascinated by what they were hearing. Grissom was on a roll.
"Judge Simmons?" prodded Greg, curious to see how the boss was going to tie everything together.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up here for a minute," Warrick interrupted. "You said that James and John were called the "sons of thunder", right?" Grissom nodded. "Is that why this sick bastard crushes their skulls with a sledge hammer?"
"Probably. We'll come back to that when we get to the notes left at the scenes." Grissom paused to swallow some coffee. "Judge Simmons. The rock Sara found on the trunk of her car stands for Saint Peter, Prince of the Apostles."
"Okay, I understand where you are going with this," said Nick. "I know that Peter was the rock that the church was built on and all that. How does that relate to Cephas?"
"Ah," said Grissom. "Cephas in Syriac means rock. It was the name given to the disciple Simon by Christ in the Gospel of John, Chapter 1, Verse 42. 'And he brought him to Jesus. And Jesus looking upon him, said: Thou art Simon the son of Jona. Thou shalt be called Cephas, which is interpreted Peter.' Thus Simon evolved into Peter. And, in our case, it is how Officer J. J. Cephas came to be a rock found on the trunk of a car."
Catherine picked up her cell and hit a single key to activate speed dial. "I'll call Brass and tell him to find Cephas. You and Sara need to go get some rest."
Grissom shook his head. "Sara is free to go but I still need to go over those eight notes."
"Later, Gil," said Catherine, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Go home for a couple of hours. The notes will be here when you get back."
Grissom glanced at Sara and the open, hungry look she tossed at him ended the argument. "Fine, Catherine, we'll go. But I want a call as soon as anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant, turns up." He and Sara gathered their belongings and headed out, going home for a few hours of well-deserved rest.
They should have been sleeping, but were not. They knew that Brass would call soon to inform them that Judge Simmons' desecrated body had been found somewhere in the lonely desert. They were functioning on nothing more than coffee dregs and adrenaline but the longing, the absolute need flowing between them was as overpowering as a violent spring thunderstorm and neither could possibly resist the flash of desire currently flooding their senses. The instant they crossed the threshold of their home, Grissom enfolded Sara in a bone crushing hug. She willingly followed his lead, molding her lean frame as tightly to his as possible as he leaned back against the door to better accept the light burden of her body. For a long time they merely held each other, savoring the closeness, reigniting the undeniable connection.
Grissom tilted his head forward from where it had been resting against the closed wooden portal and began brushing his lips against hers, his soft bristling whiskers tickling her eager mouth like the wispy flutter of butterfly wings. Sara moved her hand to the back of his head to hold him in place while she frantically sought to deepen his kisses. Despite the growing hunger they shared to touch and be touched, they took their time, tongues swirling, tangling, dancing excitedly in an erotic tango of joyous homecoming.
Sara's patience dissolved in the swirling mist of arousal flowing between their heated bodies and nipping, suckling mouths. She grabbed Grissom's hand to lead him off to the bedroom, stumbling in her haste as she tried valiantly to retain the delicious suction between them. Clothes fell to the floor in a haphazard pile. Sara nearly shredded Grissom's shirt in her haste to feel his skin, fumbling with his buckle before finally lowering his slacks and boxers. She dimly noticed that he was wearing an elastic support around his left knee but any thought of questioning him faded swiftly as his fingers began roaming over her flesh. Grissom took his time stripping Sara, carefully unwrapping her like a long overdue Christmas package. She never failed to be humbled by the child-like delight in his eyes as he slowly revealed her supple nudity. It was as if every time he gazed upon her was the very first, a brand new adventure to inscribe upon their hearts as opposed to merely rereading the same old tired, dog-eared novel.
They fell into bed in a sensual tangle of limbs. His touch, a murmuring stutter upon her flesh, spread seductive rumors of love across her quivering torso as his lips sang sinfully sweet secrets upon her breasts. Sara was held captive by his rapt attentiveness and could only writhe helplessly in the wake of his single-minded onslaught. He had learned how to pleasure her and used that knowledge to render her completely helpless. She wanted to touch him but her arms refused to obey. She was his hopeless prisoner, gladly surrendering to his every passionate whim, moaning and panting her pleasure as she spiraled towards her release.
Grissom was nuzzling her neck, soothing her, as she slowly regained an awareness of her surroundings. As Grissom's confidence in his love-making skills grew with every intimate moment they shared, his fears of disappointing Sara began to dissolve and his staying power increased. Sara was delighted to find him still erect and rolled on her side, grabbing and fumbling at him to do the same so that they were facing each other in the muted light of the breaking day. His shaft slid easily between her thighs and she closed her legs greedily around him, locking him in place, delighted by the wonder she saw swirling in his eyes. This was the first time their most private parts had ever touched and Grissom swallowed heavily, engrossed in the sensations, the texture, the overpowering heat and moisture seeping over his eager cock. Sara rocked her hips back and forth, bringing their hips tightly together before retreating and kissing together again.
She moved faster, desperate for the delightful friction of his erection plowing through her cleft to bump along her swollen and ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves. Grissom found her rhythm and began to haltingly thrust his pelvis to meet her. He quickly lost control and placed a trembling hand on her shapley ass to hold her in place as his movements sped up. They ground together furiously, wildly, craving the delicious pressure, straining for more. Higher and higher the tension built until Sara finally exploded with a hoarse shout of triumph. Grissom's own release was just as powerful, but silent. He was breathing heavily as he pulled Sara close and pressed grateful pecks along her open mouth.
For a long time, they simply rested, reveling in the awe-inspiring sensations they had just shared. As a veil of peacefulness covered them as securely as the fluffy comforter, Sara remembered something. Grissom had some explaining to do.
"You've been keeping things from me again, haven't you?" she lightly accused.
She felt his bewilderment as he tried to look at her. She kept her head buried in his chest as she continued. "What's with the brace on your knee? You didn't tell me that you were having problems."
"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "I had to do a lot of hiking and needed the extra support."
"You sure that's all there is to it?"
"Yup."
"Do you need to schedule an appointment to see your orthopedist?"
"I'm fine, Sara, go to sleep. You're spoiling my afterglow."
Sara snorted a laugh and snuggled back down, letting the strong, steady beat of his heart rhythmically rock her into slumber. Grissom pulled her closer, wrapping his arms about her possessively, protectively, as he, too, slipped off to sleep, marveling at the contentment and completeness that only Sara could provide.
The Gospel of Matthew 20:23
Once, we were dreamers on the rise
We were the sun where the sun never shines
And we were gold where the night bird only flies
Ah, that's a long time you know for that kind of wind to blow
Long time ago we were dreamers on the rise
To Be Continued...