Comecon

From the pikes of the Inkas,
from the abysses of Pamir
From the Alps of the Old world,
some things are clear, some things are not
In the high mountain air I feel bright when I ain't
I see a throned spirit and 24 elderly saints
I feel beyond morals like Frederick,
the moustached whipper
I dream of a heavenly vessel,
where god would be the skipper
But I'm scared for it darkens, I sense powers come aloose
And I'm lost, I'm of no use, like a coin without a flipper