Birth Of Thy Morning Fair

Beholdest thou thy visage upon the looking glass
and art plagued by gloom most ravenous?
Dost thou bemoan the man of rags thou art
unworthy to wallow in stardust?

Sufferest thou the curse of inferiority
with a lowered head to behold the towers of the city?
Thinkest thou to be gods men with gold coins
and without kingly pride lookest down on the seed of thy loins?

Why flauntest not thou thy scar
breaking even the holy tryst with the dark?
Thou must consider again what is truth
as thy soul still is fueled by the adrenaline of youth.

Seest thou a need to sail on a boat
a quest rich with faith for an antidote?
Have thou ever been drunk with tears
and wouldest thou love to stagger off life's unfair course?

Dreamest thou thyself at meat with princes?
Will thou then not fly away through this prison bars o'er the seas?
Is thy will not a ready signet
and noble ink thy sweat?

Awake! Awake from this nightmare
and behold travailing sky upon the birth of a morning fair!
Gird thy loins to meet thyself unveiled on the ruins of reason
where the scribes wait on thee as thy epic is born.

- by Martins Deep

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