In my dreams, I dream that I died,
I'm landed on a rocky shore
Haunted by waves and winds,
Where as the sand I lay.

And U hear the storm!
Oh, I hear the storm!

Cold hands as winter winds
Untie my being. They set me free.
And cold storms from outside
Grasp my shell, becoming me.

I feel the moonlight dead as I am
And withered leaves in the wind
Floating through the land of nowhere
As my life is lost in time.

And my life is gone
And I hear the storm!

Frozen winds cut my breath,
So I can taste the death.

Standing still
Through the ages,
Throwing shadows
To the lowlands,
Standing tall
When the winds blow,
Lonely white idols
Rust on pedestals.

The solitude kills
Even the immortal ones.
When will they regain their powers?
When will they be strong again?

Heroic times which past
Worshiped them.
Why should gods of sadness
Undermine their strength?
Lonely white idols!
Lonely white idols!
Too fair to doubt the fate,
Too proud to face the hate!

The sky in a winter night?
The frozen moon shines like a dead eye.
Blind, she scrutinize the darkened horizon?
Another reason to mourn.

The time froze in a crystal palace
And now is past and future
And I'm a tear drowned in oceans of time.

Listen the sigh of the wind!
It tells about wasted lives in endless winter nights.
Around a violet fire, the ghosts have their feast,
Waiting any moment for the rise of the beast.

The liquid sky fallen under clouds
Opens its strings, unfettering the wind.
It blows the snow, covering the sights
With endless silvery forms in white winter night.

Just a dumbfounded era!

Incandescent blood
Flows through my veins
As a mad volcano blows
Its entrails.

I accept that blasphemy
Called "my life"
While I close deep inside me
My own hell.

My betrayed heart
Is doomed to feel
All my emotions and my life.

When I look inside my heart,
I discover my own hell.

My own hell will rise,
My own hell will last,
My own hell will burn.
I'm my own hell.

I am used to burn
Inside my own hell
And the fire is fed
By my life.

Heroes of the darkened past,
Listen the tales of the wind
'Cause he has seen the history dying.

Times of glory and of swords,
Times of honor,
Living idols, blood and steel,
All these are gone.

Heroic times, just heroic times,
Lost through the ages.

Riding wild horses on the fields,
Tongues if flames
Kissing swords and shields
And burn the days of the ones who die.

Why is so heroic
To die for an aim?
Maybe because we have no faith.
Why it seems heroic
To worship a bone idol?
Maybe because our god died.

I stay on the sand,
Watching the sea in front of me,
Like a frontier?
My soul runs free
Towards an evil myth of the antiquity.

Seth! A name on the sand!

The time flows
Through my fingers as the sand
When I write
The name that revives the legend?

Seth! A name on the sand?
Suddenly becoming reality?

I know the unknown,
I can see the unseen.
Am I human god?
What's my identity?
Maybe I loose my mind,
But I never loose my soul.
I'm the one who won't die!
Who am I?

I know the badness,
I can hear their pain.
Am I human god?
What's my identity?
I'm the one who makes war
And I'm the one who makes peace,
I'm the one who they hate.
Who they hate?

You're in hell now,
You're a simply ghost,
You, the human god!
You're in hell.

Suddenly, the night falls over me
And slowly I'm floating in the air
Among the ages which quickly
Come and disappear.
I meet the immortal core,
The primordial point of the universe
Which in Rig Veda lays written.

Over the life and the death,
Over good and wrong,
Over the seven seas
There is shadow land.

In my way through the frozen land of death
I can see all my dead friends.
They are visions and they quickly come and disappear.
I can hear them calling me,
I can feel their agony.
Am I dead? Yes. I've seen me.
I've seen reflections of my former life,
I cannot fill up my empty space.
Am I shadow? I'm the wind.

Through the night I can see my own eyes watching me,
I can feel my own agony.

Am I god? Yes. Then I'm dead.