Back home beside the silent streets,

he watched his mother wait,

A woman he had fought for years,

yet loved beneath the hate.

Her love reached sons who lost their way,

through prison, shame, and scars,

And flowed unchanged to younger lives

like light through winter stars.

Love is not a dwindling flame,

but many fires made one.

And Gabriele walks between

the shadows and the sun

He turned the Greek names in his mind—

eros, storge, grace—

Yet every border scholars drew

grew thin in human space.

Love is not a dwindling flame,

but many fires made one.

And Gabriele walks between

the shadows and the sun

He loved his mother from afar.

He loved by leaving once.

He loved by coming home again.

And Potsdam stood before him then,

not memory, but ground,

A place that shaped the hidden parts

he only now had found.

Love is not a dwindling flame,

but many fires made one.

And Gabriele walks between

the shadows and the sun

(guitar solo)

Love is not a dwindling flame,

but many fires made one.

(Fade)