There are horses in the atmosphereRunning free and wild, springing, falling,Following the trail of the white horse.The child divine sings to themWhistling the wind into shooting stars.Our warm scarves will protect usFrom the night and northern light,Emanating from the child divine.We wandered smoky forests so late at nightAnd saw a blaze of dreams on the other sideWhere the valley burned, glowing like a thousan...