I met a silver shadow man
Who stood upon a silver hill.
His face was set into a frown
And like a statue he was still.
He stood next to a silver tree,
Alone upon his silver hill.
I called to him "Sir, speak to me!"
But like a statue he was still.
In his heart there was a knife
And silver blood was on the hill.
Some silver leaves fell softly down,
'Til like a statue they were still.
His eyes were closed up tight with pain,
His silver blood ran down the hill.
Eternally his blood did flow,
But like a statue he was still.e