There is a growingGolden lightFlowered and foldingBehind the mirror of your eyesIf an angel could hold upIn his poshed white handI know he believes itLike a bird to the skyNow you are a warriorWho will conquer this landOn a horse made of cloudsYou will scour the sandsSome people sayGod is long deadBut I heard something inside youWith my head to your chestOh, thenAll the wrongThey sayI have doneTheir liesA seedOf a million moreJust waiting to becomeSend them homeSend them homeSend them homeSend them homeUse your swordUse your voiceAnd destroyAnd destroyThen begin again
