I see the old man so often,
The Gray, the Wise
And his writings.
I see and think about it so often,
Poisoning the teaching,
That To praise new ones,
That was his purpose.
Ideas prove,
To lift the darkness.
I see and think of it so often,
Of myself and the old one Man.
And again I see myself at the side of the road
Where two paths split from one.
Both lead to the end of time
But only one is granted to me by the domestic bond
From supposed foresight. Past
Lives in the future, according to the ancients.
They stir up conflict; They lead, murder and rule.
Inherited reason and burned intellect.
I see the young man so often,
Just see his face,
And his features.
I see and think about it so often,
To stir the blood,
To wield the swords,
That wasn't his purpose.
And always the lie
From Honor and duty.
I see and think of it so often,
Of myself. The young man.

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