He has the ability to fly He chose his destinies, altering them by will
Chants to rid off his offensive thoughts Raising the brim above the rest Currents flow between his eyes His destiny, another chance? Wining and gambling away purity Realising His quest is lost Tracing his way back.
Your altered destinies Burial eyes.
Imperfection, the mutilation of his faith Praising temper, subduing nonchalant gods
Enough of hypocrisy, he looks to the forest for empathy Walking through and conversing with the trees Saffron clad justice for philosophies (he’d) misunderstood He finds lust on a dusty path In her bosom he discovers loath