As time pass on the body dies,
There are no ways to stop its cries,
The fate will once stop rolling dice
And past will measure pain's size.
The past is painful, future's dark,
The fate decides well whom to mark,
That mark is curse and not a gift,
Its pressure one will never lift.
May it be called a Divine Hell !
You will not stop my holy gall,
I will return you bits of pain
And in its waters you I'll sain !
I swear that you shall soon feel
That I do have my own will,
And I wish stepping own way
To all your plans I could say "nay" !
…But since the god is long no more,
There is no one to blame for gore,
There is no one to judge for pain
And all the pleads will be in vain.
It matters not if I survive -
Myself of curse I will deprive,
To find the painless way to sky ...
The price for wings is truly high.
As time pass on the body dies
To free the spirit way to rise,
It is the nature of that tolling
That makes the dice of fate keep rolling.