What dreams can aspire of this higher need,
Be struck down against ignorance that flows still,
And of what desire to evoke that sleeping lust,
For this murderer who waits not to kill.
From whence the sun fled west,
To voices that speak of questions of simplicity,
To fall among silence at the mother's breast,
Suckled of their vanity that only she could see.
They boasted of a life they could not revive,
Promises made with death as the hidden lay his face,
And he followed them along the road they would strive,
The masked shepherd to guide and slaughter upon grace.
How mortal must be the fair mind of god,
Chasing the world to turn by his hand,
Praising the day his faith will fall,
For lost and forever be the innocence of man.