It is the dream of my origin,
For in the dreams I am still virgin,
And still I'm fighting with my sleep,
But hesitate - that's why I weep.
My worthless dreams I must deny,
But still afraid to make the try,
For who am I now to decide
What dream is wrong, what dream is right?
My purest dream is that of bird -
It is the symbol of the world
Which always change and born anew,
This bird I am, like it I flew.
For like a phoenix I reborn ...
My wings may melt, my wings may worn,
But I'm constantly born anew,
I'm many-faced in others view.
I am restored in the fire,
The fire's cold, that fire's dire,
It forges one's wings to make him flyer ...
It is a grand sight to admire.
From former ego it deprives,
And, as its victim slowly dies,
His flesh begins to grow anew ...
And still survivors are so few.
I'm passing through this coldest hell,
My burning skin is all I smell,
My former past will once unfold ...
It is a strange sight to behold.
For I am one without name,
I've lost my past, rejected fame,
The Earth will never be my home ...
I will be free the time I'm gone.
All other worlds awaiting me ...
I will awake, I shall break free,
Inside myself I'm searching deeper -
Such is the fate of the Unsleeper.
No one can help me on my path,
I'm always self, I'm never "us",
Through divine hell I'm passing by
To forge the wings for final flight.
The time will come, I will reborn,
My former skin myself I'll torn,
Reborn anew, becoming flyer -
It's all the wish, it's one's desire.
