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