My dreams wrought me a ship on which I embarked  
In want of an island that lay in the  comfort of solitude alone
And amidst all hopes, illusions and dreams to hold onto
I set foot upon this island and had soon made it to be mine own

It became the fortress of my very mind
And I watched it fill itself with all sounds, colours and odours
That the power of imagination is but heir to
And to which it slowly made me subject

If nature is a reflection of the human soul
Then a human hand will show itself in sweet flowers and the mystery of the darkest wood
The oblivion of the deepest sea

Yet then the solitude and desolation of my island
Woke me up from dreaming
And I was left with nothing but the illusion in the mind of a displaced refugee
That still lives in his own world; this island of his imagination