The carrier of wounds

I slumber throught my years. Like the desert moves with the wind. Frozen and flickering, the lustful year has met its end. A wanderer I am indeed... the son of the moon... and I will carry mountains soon. A burden I was for those who woke the sun I threw their masks away, lit my torches, and burned their eyes... Forgiven I never was. But I will carry mountains soon. A burden, is it not? Kneeling I chose my faith, while they lit the sun, and flew naked and blind over my desert fields.