From the pikes of the Inkas,
from the abysses of Pamir
From the Alps of the Old world,
some things are clear, some things
are not
In the high mountain air I feel bright when I ain't
I see a throned spirit and 24 elderly saints
I feel beyond morals
like Frederick,
the moustached whipper
I dream of a heavenly vessel,
where god would be the skipper
But I'm scared for it
darkens, I sense powers come aloose
And I'm lost, I'm of no use, like a coin without a flipper
From here I can see all the good
of the world
All the bad of the world, anything of the world
I see seals go abroke, I hear hooves across the skies
I see a black
horse, a red one, I see scourge and demise
But what I thought was without
is now gathering within
It's floating on inwards as
the chaos begins
And when I'm swallowed by turmoil,
outside new life sprouts
The sun's coming back - I fade and go
out