Out of the dream I hear it

the distant thunder.

I hear the cry of children;

love will hold back darkness,

love will hold back death.

The sky is violet, red

clouds have bled this day;

smoke rises from the ashes,

guns are put away.

In the distant thunder

I hear an infant cry;

love holds it safe at harbor,

love rocks it in the sway.

The dreamer goes on dreaming;

waiting for the new world

where madness done and hate...

Now, the sky is golden,

something new appears above.

The thunder rolls asunder

no one wanders to the grave.

Forever dreaming until the Lathe

says, Go! Accept the truth that

nothing endures, nothing is precise

one with rock and still alive...

dreamers we now know the world

is paradox and fate...