Son, you are a child. When will you learn to be gentle with the truth and speak to me in silence.

Son, be humble with your stare. Look up to me; Don't ogle me; Don't raise your voice. I sleep nights without food; I'm feeble.

Child, this is a mirage; Don't worship symbols. The world is not yours to take. There is no home but love, no home in pride. Even a King bows to his people.

When I was a child, I was the Rage of Ra. I was without words; I was the Wrath of Ares, but Horus taught me how to speak in kindness to my people.

I swore an oath to father death; I swore to pride, to wont, to waiting. Drank fine wine out of severed heads; I unleashed myself to the bounds of hell, and to the books of history and the serpents spell, I swore allegiance.

Now, I swear to life; I breathe in art, speak the truth, and I humbly, swear to meaning.

I am a shooting star. I don't sparkle; I incinerate plastic men to the growling depths of Hades, but even here I must admit, a king must bow to his people.

Remember me, dear child, for long after midnight, I weep for you, my dearest, and my love for you sleeps not, long after midnight, enduringly, my purest. Now, sleep young child and tomorrow rise, Sunrise man, rise.

Rise, my wolf brother, my ally, my King; Ride with me and rise to your people!

Rise my fellow man. I am the eye of the Sun. My fires rage and rage and rage. I am the final call before the horde. The horde is here; It lives inside us all; It's here, same as before. Nothing has changed; We are the fear we breathe into this world. We are the horde. We are the saviours of the blazing sun where all supermen are quite plastic.