History dances to me
on a whisper.
I listen to the echoes
of those tired feet on stone,
and to the choir of voices forgotten,
bowing my head in lament.

As sun sets over the mountain,
crowning this miraculous country,
wreathing it in purest gold,
visions of absent glory
cleave to the luster hanging,
suspended above the contours
of this majestic empire,

and by the light of that brilliant corona,
enduring the blameless and bitter dusts of time,
a delicate mirage emerges,
chronicling the last vestiges
of the valorous heroes who came before,
who influence our proud and dignified march.

And where a ceremony awaits -
beyond the scope of that western realm,
beyond the reach of that bleeding sun
into which silhouettes now fade -
to laurel today's new hero with a crown
of golden light,
so too awaits the ecstatic promise
of a brand-new, untamed world.

I want to release my inhibitions,
feel the rain on my skin.
I want my Venus, my fire, at my desire.
But I'm not a woman.

Deep beneath waves -
salt and darkness -
a challenger emerges,

silver, streamline,
fins and flippers.
Tuna heeds no warnings.

Here to undo
all your progress,
mankind poses no threat,

on hands and knees,
weeping, crawling.
Tuna stands the victor.

I am happy to have lost my innocence.
If I hadn't, I would have never noticed
the devil you have always been.