Where our steps bring us, where is the God of Incas.
On the path we were walking, creating creatures, looking for meaning, living their meaning.
As a branches of the tree are carving the sky, so the river of the montains is giving reply.
Creatures -no tortoise, no birds- are camouflaged in the earth.
The fog is covering what Lovelock was discoverting.
A scar form the past greet us, a conqueror corps let pass
Millenary viwers are the stones, the home of myriad souls.
Living in a haunt, living as a hedgehog, is part of the jaunk covered by the white fog.
Closer to goal enrich the soul.
Through the symbiosis of all of us, the nature is creating us.
There is no doubts, the mountains are carring the names of the Gods.
An altar has to be make, to prove that our love is no fake.
On the top I look to find the primordial soup
Hanging from the rope, I left, my final step.
