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