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 fell 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 call it And wait as long as you find another way To create or come up with something that is to thrill One must place one's soul between The hammer and the anvil
