Текст песни
Ink flows like the birth of stars
His quill outlines ridges and rivers
He builds the most impossible bridge
Between a dream and a sleeping man
A wave of his hand — and the sunset comes alive
Breathes warmth into painted smoke
He is a demiurge, the great recipient
Tenderly kept by living nature
He rules over time and darkness
The sole architect of imaginary lands
He will cross out any plot with his hand
Erasing worlds into a cold ocean
In his pride lies the supreme absolute
Where every stroke is grand and strict
Fate and his dust are woven by his ink
Over the fragile world of clean canvases
Nature, awakened beneath his quill
Kisses him with the whisper of birches
He is wounded by her, saved by her
In her storm lies the heat of his own dreams
He is so grand in his madness
When he breathes power into every breath
He rules this scorched canvas
Knowing no bounds, rules, or chains
But if his commanding hand trembles
He can erase all this light in an instant
Rewrite the current, the clouds
Undo the fork of past years
Start over, with a clean slate
Where a new day is born from the gloom
And the primordial dream will spark
From the ashes of enchanted embers
He falls asleep by his candle
Confident that he rules existence
But in the quiet and mysterious night
I raise my quill above the altar
With a simple stroke, I draw a silhouette
Of his desk, of his written pages
For he is merely my invented poet
A creation of my own worlds!
But the rustle of stars breaks the silence
And cold strikes a trembling palm
Could it be that I am in a cosmic trap
A thought of the Universe that lit the fire?
And someone out there, beyond eternal forces
In the silence of worlds whose design has ripened
Was drawing me with ink just now
And commanded my story to end?
