The Steppenwolfs' stepson
no stranger to the strange,
strangled in thought
and a raving wonder,
was the custom of his gaze.

The specter of Mozart's laughter
bellowed loudly,
lamping light on every cloud,  
the dawn of every day,
could be trestled in his smile.

Flirting with divine perfection,
ceaselessly,
ruminating in awe,
of his sublime imaginings
nesting soundly in his noose

Man and the philosopher's stone
Some wishes are better left unfulfilled
An attachment to life or a trepidation of death
Perhaps it's merely a weakness of faith
The desire to prolong the struggle that is life
Are aeons on earth even worth it?

One more day, one more month, one more year
It is never enough
For man is a greedy creature
He always wants more
Even when it is beyond the realm of the possibility
He hopes for a miracle

The emotional conflict
So gorgeous it is painful
Those electric blue eyes
It's all deception and lies
Yet somehow they ignited unfathomable feelings in his guts
That are slowly turning into an exquisite agony
Man is afraid his love for life is slowly turning into an obsession

Ultimate escape from this worldly life
Away from all the vice and violence
Eternal rest will be indeed so serene, so peaceful
Yet life is so **** beautiful
Call it naivety or lunacy
Man can't help but crave the latter