A crimson sun down shines on
mushroom peaked clouds;
the earth shakes below
and somehow,
my thoughts turn to love.

On my back the sky above,
my heart beats rock and roll,
Creedance opens for the red dye cloud,
and somehow,

I think of something called love.

Oh dear butterfly wildfire,
red locks bareback the horse called war,
passion burns firetipped in your eyes
and somehow,
I'm not afraid to die.