I count halos on your forehead
I smell the stars in all your white eastern skies
Where zodiacs taste like beehives
And every sting is a reward, full of anthems, of colour and delight…
We are the dreamers, the distance to reality
We are the dremers, the blemish of a wound
We are the dreamers, the missing link to history
We are the dreamers and nothing else what counts…
Plant the kings' heads in the orchard
Under the nests of red birds with their hierarchy
And I’ll judge you, just for our fun
'Cause every law, that’s written is a doctrine, spelled by you and me…
We are the dreamers, the distance to reality
We are the dremers, the blemish of a wound
We are the dreamers, the missing link to history
We are the dreamers and nothing else what counts…