Free yourself from your innermost chains,
and let the wild, free craze come alive.
Let the animal inside revive,
go further, seek - and strive.

Oh - and I want you to know,
that you can also dance in the rain,
in the forest at night,
and in the snow.

Tell me, what your hands where made for,
and to another room open the door.
Another dream, death, silent scream.
Go my friend, and dance to redeem.

Welcome, and if you're still alive,
into another well of darkness dive.
Dance along the starlit street,
and another door you'll meet.

Tell me, what your heart was made for,
and where you've found your freedoms ore.
.. I knew you'd leave me speechless once.

The snow in my heart fell day by day,
till my innocence you've taken away
- so let me tell you a story,
try to understand, reach me your hand,
if you're another stranger in a strangers land.

Sometimes,
old dreams are made to be burried.
Something has to become the seeds
of a newer world.
So when I'm filled with old dreams and thoughts,
come in, into my head,
and meet another poets dead.

Burrying old dreams - it's best done with lovers and friends.
Holding each other in their bleeding hands,
they face the night that made them fright
Take your time, face your night, dance at dawn.
Dance at dawn, in the golden fields of corn.
You've just found another roses thorn,
have to free it in your silent moan.

Pleasure and pain are of the same
both like to dance in the rain,
want to be free of their stain.

It feels like something very big,
to lie in tears and broken,
having someone to hold you.
Even bigger is the feeling of being understood.

Describing the night is needed for the dance,
the dance has to free of the devils that remain.
It's about getting your mind ready for another round,
dreaming it together, not to be afraid, not to be alone,
in this strange land - we have to understand.

We'll need that firepit of our innocent youth,
where there've been deamons waiting for us.
Sitting down, holding each others hands,
arms outstretched over each others shoulders.
We have to bring rugs, for even if the fire will be hot at time,
we need to protect our selfs with the same covers.

Sit together to heal your common longings,
you are broken pieces of the same diamond,
made to reflect and break the light in your very special way.

The deamons on the firepit of our youth,
they know us, have allways been waiting for us here.
The longer we avoid them, the stronger they will grow.
The only present we can bring as we visit our enemies
are the broken dreams that our poor existance created.

We return here as innocent strangers,
not aware that we're about to meet the deamons that we fear so strong.
They don't even look shy, but with greed,
and we spread everything we've got in front of them.
They'd know it anyway, and something has to satisfy their hunger.
We burn it, burn the old pieces, burn the pain that we can no longer deny,
keeping the fire burning to stay warm, and keep the night away.
The warmth of our fire keeps the deamons alive,
that pray we would otherwise become easily in a dark night.
We want to be free of broken dreams that we can no longer bear,
and with our tears they fall from the sky like stars,
with a single, last glow.
Burning our old dreams, we have to learn to let go of old things.
But we will not forget, will never forget.
It's natural to get back the freedom that we need so badly in this fashion,
for it feels like we've allways done it this way.

Something invalueable fades up to the sky as a spark and dissolves slowly.
In pain and anger we dance around the fire, untill we know nothing.
Finally we scream to the stars, and peace comes to the defenseless in an unexpected fashion.

We've been sitting 'round the fireplace of our innocent youth,
dreaming in each others arms,
while we cry to the stars or howl to the moon.
Now - there's piece where void has been,
and the night is almost over.
The deamons that had forseen our steps don't know what will happen next.
They have no power anymore, your very next steps are free - choose them wisely.

The next thing that I remember was dawn.
Dawn came, and the shadows began to shrink.
It was in the fields of corn, next to the firepit,
were we would run around in circles.
The sun broke through on the horizon,
we could see a wonderfull, crooked tree in the back-light.
Out of a hunch some started dancing,
dancing in the light of a new born day, a new born hope.