The Lit-Foot Lad: Fugitive from Blind Conflicts
Crouched in a jungle corner I’m fled to nocturnal birds.
Vegetation conceals me from but blood smell condemns me.
Celeste night doesn’t shelter me behind her starry mantle.
Full moon above doesn’t caresses me anymore but betrays me.
I’m lost in a never-ending nature far away home,
My winds are broken,
My winds are in pain,
My winds are wounded.
How unfair you are Truth!
By heading me towards for defeat while being your great fighter,
How unfair you are Courage!
By opening old wounds you weaken me to get death sick,
How unfair you are Muse!
By turning me into a Hatred Fugitive from a Blind Conflict,
How unfair you are Love!
By hiding my soul from shouting out to bleed your greatness
I’ll lick my broken wings, in pain and defeat,
I’ll doze to the new day drowning my sorrow in silence,
Then I’ll clear up the bitter mist of my despair at dawn,
Night deceptive darkness will fade into infinite space
While anguish of defeat turns into a wound else along Battle Road
