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...