From today's first hour I have not been
As others think of me; I have not seen
The light as you want me to; and I can not bring
My thoughts together into the common spring.
From the very same source I tried to steal
I fell down; my body I could not feel
I fail to joy at your pace and by your tone;
And as i try to survive, I try it all alone.

Then- in my manic thoughts, in the dawn
Of a most twisted mind- it was drawn
For all that i see is of good or ill
The shackles which binds me still:

From the thoughts in my own gardens and fountains,
From the pitch black blade I forged in the mountains,
From the crowd which around me rolled
In its shimmering and mad tint of gold,
From God himself in the sky
As he blessed me when stopping by,
From my inner madness and it's storm,
And the crowd that took the form
(When the rest of my Earth was dead)
Of an army in my view.