There's a story among my humble people.
There's a dream in the walls of my shiny cradle.
That one day I will cry and shout without the 'me'
And I will fly, caught, in the claws of a raven's memory.
There's a whisper winding through my humble people
That in a split and half and in between eternities
I will crawl like my wasted death, and so it is,
I will walk daring the forgotten path of all the fallen Gods
And there's a truth killing all my humble people without the common odds.
That I will find myself naked like a dying star
While thinking, hating, running, oh, so far
Through the raven's blood
Stilling its sacred wings of mud
Until the journey will become insane
Like my humanely absurd and infinitely falling rain.