Birth of Thy Morning Fair

Beholdest thou thy visage upon the looking glass and art plagued by gloom most ravenous? Dost thou bemoan the man of rags thou art unworthy to wallow in stardust? Sufferest thou the curse of inferiority with a lowered head to behold the towers of the city? Thinkest thou to be gods men with gold coins and without kingly pride lookest down on the seed of thy loins? Why flauntest not thou thy scar breaking even the holy tryst with the dark? Thou must consider again what is truth as thy soul still is fueled by the adrenaline of youth. Seest thou a need to sail on a boat a quest rich with faith for an antidote? Have thou ever been drunk with tears and wouldest thou love to stagger off life's unfair course? Dreamest thou thyself at meat with princes? Will thou then not fly away through this prison bars o'er the seas? Is thy will not a ready signet and noble ink thy sweat? Awake! Awake from this nightmare and behold travailing sky upon the birth of a morning fair! Gird thy loins to meet thyself unveiled on the ruins of reason where the scribes wait on thee as thy epic is born.