Paroles
My son, haven't you realized your condition?
Architect and destroyer of Empires has been told I am
Even long before the daylight was born
And before time became time
I made of you, my most, perfect portrait
My dearest invention, heir of the skies
And maker of existences, as universes in the sky
Crowns and diadems lie in your temple
Neglecting that you aren't more than a pawn
That dies with the first movement
There are no more, but incipient, vestiges
You have destroyed the germ of future
With your trophies of aberrant wars
Dispensable, you are
Condemned to be eternally extinct by your own hand
You are just a number
A link in the middle of a chain of mistakes
A fragile deity in the midst of irrational councils
You have betrayed the purpose for which you were conceived
You have hurt the hand that feeds you
And you have wielded the sickle that cuts the vine
All against yourself
Before the perpetual look of skies
dispensable, you are
And you're the dust that dirties my feet
A corpse that is not aware of its own death
The way back has the color of your crimes
Dispensable, you are
Condemned to be eternally extinct by your own hand
You are just a number
A link in the middle of a chain of mistakes
A fragile deity in the midst of irrational councils