Like a dying and departed tribe Some are born to crawl into the Pockets of the living with no ancient Creature to worship one depends On the personal will to evolve as A pure unique individual They stand yet they cannot Stop they walk yet they Never touch the ground The tall dark structure made Them pay for their feelings They are born sinless and Die blankly with no Ancient creature to worship They stare to the sun Without blindness to Overcome them Yet they rot for what To be no one they Want to claim the puissance They stand yet they Cannot stop they walk Yet they never touch the ground