Follow me, little children, and I will show you how to be free. Do you hear the sound of my wooden flute? It sings for you the song of love. It is a love song, darling. So follow me and I will teach you.
My eyes shall guide you and my song shall lead you. You must not see the cave walls around us, hush-a-bye, little children. My flute enchants you, does it not, my children? Your hearts will be made free.
That voice which cries in the mountains and among the desert streams, is not mine, my children (for mine you are now). Ignore that not-my-song, my loves, my ltitle ones. Your fathers can not hear you among the snow-filled caverns. You are mine now, and this is the song of freedom.
The children awaken among the dragon's lair and cry for grey Hamelin. What have we done, they cry. What did we do to get here?
The piper smiles and lifts the flute to his lips once more. The children open their mouths to cry and cover their eyes, but the sweet sound of chains does bind them. Their eyes turn to the heavens and all of us join hands and fall into the paradise that we call Hell. See, it's dark and it's quiet here, without the scary snow and the dragon with the flute.
One little child stands up and opens his eyes. His ears are bleeding and he turns from the piper and the open sky without the cave and he shakes his head. Slowly, slowly, then faster and faster and he sings.
The song is not new, but it's his father's song, and the wind's song, and the laughter's song, and the song the piper was trying to remember. It is the child's song.
It is the song of freedom.
And the snow crumbles down.
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