At the foot of the high mountainnThere's a land where you can speak with your mindnAlong the streets a multitude of temples, consecrated tongrotesque idols, burn incenses to celebrate the timenThe time of forgivenessnnCreatures living in this placencan teach you how to read dreamsnRivers flowing through this groundncarry the purity of silvernnAndrogynous beings card an innumerable variety of precious silks,nused to dry tears of joynUsed to dry tears of joy...nnI can perceive the majestic presencenof the bull-man, who reigned here for centuries,nbefore the apes came, before the apes camenbefore the apes came, the apes... apes...nnHe was adored by legions of half-fish beings,nlater absorbed by the sea bed and sunk into the sweet woolnNow he's sleeping forever in the red house,nnear the magnificent streamnnThe gong rings to remindnthe interrupted rhythm of his noble breathingnThe gong rings to remindnthe interrupted rhythm of his breathing