Like a dying and departed tribe
Some are born to crawl into the
Pockets of the living with no ancient
Creature to worship one depends
On the personal will to evolve as
A pure unique individual
They stand yet they cannot
Stop they walk yet they
Never touch the ground
The tall dark structure made
Them pay for their feelings
They are born sinless and
Die blankly with no
Ancient creature to worship
They stare to the sun
Without blindness to
Overcome them
Yet they rot for what
To be no one they
Want to claim the puissance
They stand yet they
Cannot stop they walk
Yet they never touch the ground
