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