Deceiver among the chosen, I cannot hate my own kin.
Every breath is my creation, my ultimate will.
A wish of poison on their tongues, a bitter hiss of whispers.
It feeds their insecurities.
All sense of justice from sorrow is lost.

Our fate a disease to be taken from others into our own hands.
This gift cannot fill our desires.
All see but no one understands.
First eyes gazed in the beginning behind the horizonless sea.
The light-born would sail not returning.
Leaving us yearning.

They sailed celestial seas barely our eyes could see.
At once we followed and lost the horizon.

Lost in our dreams fate seems a disease.
Suddenly there's nothing we can't give for a cure.

Original light is not from the sun.
It's an old song that an eldest sang from the forest.
But light was corrupted and corruption resisted.
In time the first eyes saw the brightest dark.

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