| Smell of the wood, smell of the trees |
| Smell of the trees, echoes of the past |
| Rustling oaken leaves, oaken eddy which you cannot pass |
| Attracted by the secrecy, losing the notion of time |
| Relating intimacy to old legends, ancient fights |
| Dreaming about the roaring sky |
| About trees and thunder |
| Dreaming about forefathers |
| These secrets make me wonder |
| Stepping inside the mind of wood forlorn |
| Concentric circles, circls of the inner wood |
| Originate archtypes, the Celtic soldier and Robin Hood |
| Wandering in silence, wandering in myths |
| Step inside the history, live through the neolithic mood |
| Where the story starts |
| There the story ends |
| The mind is crooked |
| This realm it blends |
| Along the creek, leaving the realm of the world behind |
| From castles to battlefields, through space and time |
| Along the creek, leaving the realm of the world behind |
| From castles to battlefields, through space and time |
| Over woodlands and deeps, although the mind is blind |
| Unconsciousness feeds these places with archetypes |