When the heat rises up to the point of maximum temperature
To give birth to the flame
The fountain of passion showers high
New ways emerge in the endless search
For the expression supreme
And true value of art
What does it take to feel it and make it real?
Maybe you must deal with insanity or steal…
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those
Those who are at the forge?
When the steam burns your skin and the mood is getting all so constrained
And the flame’s dying down
The fountain of passion dried up suddenly
No way out, there’s nothing you can do about
It, but you call it and wait
For as long as you find another way
What does it take to feel it and make it real?
Maybe you must deal with insanity or steal…
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those
Those who are at the forge?
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process…
When we are at the forge
Of creation, but who knows
What lights up the torch
Illuminating the process for all those
Those who are at the forge?
To create or come up with something
That is to a thrill
One must place, one’s soul between
The hammer and the anvil…
