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You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in fields of gold

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold

I never make promises lightly
And there have been some that I've broken
But I swear in the days still left
We'll walk in fields of gold
We'll walk in fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold
When we walked in fields of gold

-Sting

There's a feeling I get
When I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving.

-Led Zeppelin

And all will turn,
to silver glass.
A light on the water.
Grey ships pass
Into the West.

-Annie Lennox


Men have ‘fallen’ – any legends put in the form of supposed ancient history of this actual world of ours must accept that – but the peoples of the West, the good side are Re-formed. That is they are the descendants of Men that tried to repent and fled Westward from the domination of the Prime Dark, and its false worship, and...renewed (and enlarged) their knowledge of the truth and the nature of the World. They thus escaped from ‘religion’ in the pagan sense, into a pure monotheistic world, in which all things and beings and powers that might seem worshipful were not to be worshipped, not even gods, being only creatures of the One. And He was immensely remote. -J.R.R. Tolkien


O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being—
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes!—O thou
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill—
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere—
Destroyer and Preserver—hear, O hear! -Percy Shelley


The blast of the West Wind (Zephryos) who they say is the lightest of all things. - Homer

Oh, and the Elitist VC pwns my life:


the_elitist_vc
@Livejournal.com
Because we're better than you.

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