Wisdom

The Mother of all knowledge, the book of my disguise,

Whence doeth come the storm that I can't see?

A dusk-flame reborn whom whirlwinds obey

Just thousand more years elements decay

And whither then it pass' crestfallen poetry?

Of earth and oceans, sky and lightning, we are born

All four quite distant, still the mixis of the apeyron,

Self-battled odyssey, the spiral to the core

Of the thought that no human ever thought before...

The maze with thousand spotlights, heroic is the one

To walk is straight as the mountain path alone,

Pass the shapes, lost in circles run

Searching not for the moon nor sun,

They seek the words to describe, the wisdom's sacred spawn.

Of earth and oceans, sky and lightning, we are born

All four quite distant, still the mixis of the apeyron,

Self-battled odyssey, the spiral to the core

Of the thought that no human ever thought before...

Ever thought before,

Spiral to the core,

Settling the score,

Spiral to the core.

Pozrime si do oèi. Sme Hyperborejci - vieme az prilis dobre, ako zijeme bokom.

"Ani po susi, ani po vode nenajdes cesty k Hyperborejcom": to vedel onas uz Pindaros.

Mimo sever, mimo ¾ad, mimo smr - nas zivot, nase sastie...

Objavili sme sastie, pozname cestu, nasli sme vychodisko zcelych tisicroèi labyrintu.

Kto inak ho nasiel?

Moderny èlovek snad? - "Neviem odkia¾ kam, som vsetkym, èo nevie, odkia¾ kam" - vzdycha moderny èlovek... Touto modernosou sme stonali, zhnitym mierom, zbabelym kompromisom, vsetkou cnostnou neèistotou moderneho Ano a Nie.

Tato tolerancia alargeur srdca, ktora vsetko "odpusa", pretoze vsetko "chape", to pre nas scirocco.

Radsej v¾ade zi, nez medzi modernymi cnosami a inymi juznymi vetrami!

Formula nasho sastia: jasne Ano, Nie, priama linia, cie¾...

We chase the raindrops by the chalices of wine,

Cockroaches in the dirt is what we call goodwill divine,

Confused and mislead, the pathfinders of destiny,

On the ladders to the higher principles...