In the wake of the torrent,

A son is born.

His liquid eyes just as stone,

For he is still, and he knows.

 

Knows of this structure,

Knows of the path

He walks the only course he can feel.

 

The bolt, the charge,

Not static, but dynamic.

Always changing,

But still knowing its way.

 

For this world is his.

 

Binded by the world,

The lies,

The law.

 

Man binds the animal,

Thus encaging himself.

So few steps can be taken,

'Fore they stumble and fall.

 

And he will still know his way,

For this is his utopia.

 

Why stop him?

Why deny from him

The last that is freely given?

He knows the path behind, and the cobble ahead,

but still he walks.

 

The pebble in the pond,

Not falling,

But returning.

 

To the sky where he belongs.

And to walk beside him is to be free.

 

In the calm of the construction, A sun is born.