All men need secret dreams
The wild within themselves
The wild, wild, wild country
Only they can tame
The place, their place
They were gifted
In the dreams in the dreams in the dreams of the dreamers
Only timeless time remembers
And our nature never forgets
Our nature, where
A man can feel the Spirit flow through him
Where he has found the fountain of life
His life, of Life, itself
Where he looks up, way up, above the towering minarets of white
And his eyes follow its path downward passed the eternal snows that flash austerely blazing in the sun
And downward passed the far hills and peaks, the big foothills, pine covered and remote
And downward passed the chaos of rocks, moss-covered and hidden by a green screen of vines and creepers and boughs of trees
Until it finally reaches the resilient surface of green virginal grass of young velvet, with both here and there patches of color, orange and purple and golden
And it rests in a quiet pool in the tiny meadow that formed there
Where all things rested
And he takes a sip of the cool, sweet water drawn from the lip of the pond
And he gives thanks
All men need secret dreams
Of laws and orders that pacify the borders
And the wild they know too well
Only they can reign
The place, their place
They took
In the wars in the wars in the wars of the warriors
Only timeless time remembers
And our glories never forgets
Our glories, where
A man can feel the Spirit flow through him
Where he has found the fire of life
His life, of Life, itself
Where he looks down, way down, below the ærth and soil from once he came
And his eyes follow its path upward passed the filth of the pipes and sewers and the humble streets of his hometown
And upward passed the bar halls and feasts, the big festivals, wine covered and crowded
And upward passed the masses of steel, encased in glass and loud noises and hidden by stone and brick and boulevards
Until it finally reaches the heights of blissful blue yonder of possibility, with both here and there patches of color, orange and purple and golden
And it rules in a quiet penthouse in the airy office that was built there
Where all things rule
And he takes a sip of the hot, bitter coffee drawn from the machine
And he gives thanks
All men need secret dreams
For our Duty remains
All men need secret dreams
Where they can forever return
And one day return forever
Tell me, tell me, tell me a story, boy
Please, tell me of Hæven
For yours are the Words of God