…, jugglers, innkeeper`s welcoming call The sound of mist, smell of moss-grown woods Weaving my wings from many-colored yarns Flying higher, higher, higher Into the wild Weaving my world into tapestry of life Its fire golden In…

…You can choose your own path, you hopefully find the golden path, its called in literature a golden cut, its also famous in Michelangelous colourpaths. You can fight od everything, or just enjoy and gain all the glory…

…sky's falling up The wind wraps itself with my lungs The sea that we saw was a desert of snowfall The children of frost marched into the deadly dawn In their great awe they found an old seesaw And as they got on, the…