There she is at the window. Dreaming of the night, as the world gives into darkness. Her eyes attend the skies, enraptured in stars their lights offering visions of times long gone away.

She seeks in fire, to find herself in easy days. When the world was but a simple dream, and nothing lay beyond the mind.
This night, her heart doth entreat, the song of time rewind back to days of melody, and adventure in the void.
To the return of lives forgotten, and that match of wills on the Rocinante where passions collide in zero g.

Ah, perhaps then our song asks more of us in peril of the journey, that imagine we of days never seen. When statues and their masters yet stood unbroken.
Back, back shall we sing to when dreams abound in consonants.
Before the days when tyrants roamed and loved the land throughout rang so true and free.

More simply, to go home. To go home again, when in her words, she was young and restless, and the world seemed magical and beautiful.