Christ for the Warriors

Thermals lift the spirit to the next dimension

On the wing, and in the current, a state of perfect suspension

Like ancestors a thousand years before

The spiral starts to the forest floor

The eye is keen and the scream is shrill

The animal is the victim of the perfect kill

The blood is shed, for need not thrill

But what do you do between the need?

Magical things to the women's seed

The ancients know of your mystical connection

Can there be more than one way, to eternal perfection?

Arrogance can be a fatal mistake, and one that I don't care to make