("My father's land,
My mother's tongue
Misleading me,
So shamelessly
For many years,
I misbelieved
The hatred is the path for me.")

Father I have killed many angels,
I think.
I will now walk to the sea.
I hope I will someday forgive me
Please moor
My empty boat on a pier

I can blame for the blue blood
that runs in my veins.
But I seem to forget that we are all the same.

In your own blaze of hate you've
spawn a fear in many lives
You've taken action thinking it
was all said on the signs.
You cannot heal the feeling
burning deep inside your spine
You now collapse, cave in
revealing scabby marks of life

Mother I've seen too much, I
hate to live my life.
Forgot every word you told me,
stubborn little child, (angel of your life)
I have to find my Eden now, the
gates I left behind.
But the pain will remain.
No power to gain.

Now I have time to dwell on,
self-awareness, dreadful crime.
I saw colors too bright, not
knowing that I was blind.
I slayed a man who took a chance and
drank the forbidden wine.
The map I draw reveals that I
have been complete, machine,
in team.

Father I've seen too much, I
hate to live my life.
Forgot every word you told me,
stubborn little child, (angel of your life)
I have to find my Eden now, the
gates I left behind.
The pain will remain.
No power to gain.

Mother where's your son.
When has this begun'
Who has been the fool'

No one was born to be a servant or a slave.
Who can tell me the color of the rain'
In the world that we live in,
those things said and done
They can well overrun

The power of one.

No one was born to be a servant or a slave.
Can you tell me the color of the rain?
In the world that we live in,
those things said and done
They can well overrun
The power of one.

To leave and let die
To give hope and take life
Is that what you're here for'

To think you are right
To make sure it won't fly
Is a making of a hate crime

In the homes of the brave,
In the homes of the land slaves,
We are all the same

I need to believe.
There's more than the eye can see
All colors of rainbow.

No one was born to be a slave
Seek the past and place the blame
Tell me the color of the rain
No one was born to be a master

In the land we live, we die
Praise the oneness, praise the lie
To bind a web around the faker
We will need a true
Rainmaker

"Children of Abel, Children of Cain
Can live in harmony, without shame
The keys that I grant thee, The Sacred Land
Are dry desert sand on the palm of your hand
Without the water, the wisdom of past
Will run through your fingers, forgotten so fast
Thus now when I leave you, I'm truly blind
This blindness, this blessing,
the hope of mankind..."

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