The Morning Star rose, shining it’s mighty rays,

Bringing music and joy to the Seraphim.

They cheered, and danced happily

For the new day was shrouded in his rays.

That’s what his jefe wanted.

That’s what everyone wanted.

They all had a full cake for eternity.

But that was soon to pass,

when the Morning Star took his slice.

And when the slice was gone,

Revisions were made.

And so the warden made Man without his hand.

Man was shrouded in his vibrant rays.

Yet Man did not cheer, nor danced happily.

For his rays poisoned their sentimentality.

Poisoned their conscience, their minds,

Even his warden’s legions of cherubim.

It was hundreds of the most onerous millenia Man ever faced.

The last seven years being the most so.

Man was swayed to his side, adapting his ways into their society.

Until, after an eternity, through the overestimation of his own might,

O'Day peaks his seven heads from his cave, to be slayed.