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
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