One day I stood with my back to the wind. And the rain fell down. Raised my fist to the cobalt sky. And called to the Gods. ... Where are you?. . I stood in the stream with cold clear water.
From the north to the south. From the east to the west. All that waits for me is the grave. I have been where my brothers lay fallen. And my kind are as slaves.
Our young hearts are born with grief. And we have paid the penalty of truth. A season, of our stolen youth. Shall teach old hearts to break. . It feels like I've been here before.
The crippled oracle breathes his lungs like grit. His blackened hands, like maps of ungodly lands. Skin as leather, burnt by the sun. This world is not for him, this world is not for you nor I.