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 aerth 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 Haeven

For yours are the Words of God