And the time will fetch me an attire,
An attire of glory,
The era of contagious trunk would ebb out,The words of deuce will prevail,
The delusions of zealotry will go tumble,
The scepture would be handed over,
Meanwhile, in the cape of notions,
Breathing the air of red,
Drinking the wine of wisdom,
Breaching the walls of hatred,
I'll live a mediocre life.
Then somewhere in eternity,
When the palpitations of shellac falls away,
I may be thrown to abyss,only to return.
Through the tales from hearts and ages,
I'll become immortal,
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