Each breath you draw brings death yet closer still,
when will you face the sun with upturned hand?
You are a fraud pretending that your will
obeys your every whim and wise command,
when nothing could be further from the fact.
Your rare wins are more often due to luck
than any strength or choice of proper tact,
while secretly your terrors run amuck!
The human will has root to the divine
but ego's pride has tentacles as well.
Instead of Angel, man is Frankenstein
whose force is drawn from ovaries in Hell.
Your years of life on Earth have but one goal:
to know the grace and glory of your soul.