Since my first morning on this humble rock
I was inherited with some kind of a tedency
A longing, to touch the sky,
To end up among the constellations.
How hard it can be to tell what's right and what's not...
The devil won't come on a flaming chariot
With shadow steeds pulling it,
Nor will rise from the depth of the ocean
He is a silent voice in one's head,
Telling him to look away,
He is an act of usurpation,
An act of jealousy
An act of selfishness
So, how can the hero be an angel,
Spreading his wings all over us;
With blinding light driving the fiend away?
Or a demigod,
Slicing the leviathan in one hit,
Leading the princess to his kingdom?