Insane, i keep wondering, why would Wayne born ?
And over tomorrow, i gazed a stare, while it kept coming
Running over the vines and the pines, and the shadows upon itself.
Wayne was being created, like a simphony in the making,
With harsh notes and plain devote sentimentalism,
For whom the sentimentalism is just nothing more than anything,
As it is itself.
As i crumbled over the death wishes of the crowd,
And the glory sound of evil and terror, and as Jesus was being faded
Into a blooded wound, i keep steady, feeling more than the incest
Between my heart and my doom.
Tomorrow kept coming, faster than the morning blast,
And soon it was so near, that the world shivered,
And recreated itself in his own magesture.
Oh, our sins...
World has his saviour.