Testo At High Altitudes - Inner Missing

At High Altitudes

Adorned with threads
Of silver mist
Intoxicated with
The alpine air
On our endless way
We are so still
We are so close to the skies
Hold your breath
Take my hand
I will be
Your silent guide
The air is so clear
That every step
Can be the last
At high altitudes
We search for the freedom
Not your counterfeit reason
But the wings of delight
Are the wings of demise
Escaping from the odious congestion
Of sick human beings and lewd human stares
We follow the path among the dazzling-white peaks
Towards the top of the glaring nothingness
Our skin is burnt by the sun
And our feet are abraded
But the hearts are fulfilled with the wind
Of the high, high altitudes