Ghost of a hope

I'll wait for you at the world's end,
    where time loses meaning
and stars stand still to gaze at the land  
    which has sold its soul to the devil;
     where the air blesses each breath
    for the warmth it still retains;
and the sun takes over the moon
      as the artist's muse for a change;
     Where lost winters have found a way back home,
   And the white beneath you feet
     Is not the foam at the mouth of a dying lake.