Where the clouds blot the light,
Harder the breaths we take,
Arises the one true purpose,
To which we all bow down.
Ask the Gods for the reason,
'Master, Is pertaining a sin,
I bow to make something live'
Down with a thud he fell to his knees.
On with his plea, he keeps his mourns.
Insisting on something to watch over him,
'Now' he pleads, right now.
'Gather the humble, winter is on us.'