Standing on a mountain
Staring at the moon
The northern light shining
First green, then blue
I heard the harps playing
Songs ages old
I still hear her laughter
So wicked and cold
Her hair was of fire
I wanted to run
Her eyes were as emeralds
They turned me to stone
But in the beginning
I dreamed I was there
Her image was golden
A speck in a sphere.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Yeah, yeah.
Standing on a mountain
Staring at the moon
The northern light shining
First green, then blue
I heard the harps playing
Songs ages old
I still hear her laughter
So wicked and cold
Her hair was of fire
I wanted to run
Her eyes were as emeralds
They turned me to stone
But in the beginning
I dreamed I was there
Her image was golden
A speck in a sphere...
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