Imprisoned in the enchanted theatre
I witness strange changes
I see a wizard who under the ballast of years
Visits the land where heavy sleep ranges

He dreamt about days when he was young
In what way he perceived the world
What he would alter from the perspective of years
Any changes would like the old

The flame of my imagination
The wick of lit dreams
Journey along the route of memories creation

The most precious gifts
Sent by him
Evoke the ideas that help us to go along

The road through thorns or covered with roses
The one we use to departure
The road through thorns - we avoid it to fool the time
The road through thorns - at the end a flower blossoms- maybe mine
But who dares to pick it up so early

The third act the old man wakes up
His face is smiling
The essential still exists, the question mark vanishes

The road...
The road...
The road...
The road through thorns - where it may end
I know at the world's end.