There is an old myth,
In every old culture,
As to why we allure,
the gods to feast.
Why we sacrifice our flesh, our blood,
to that of the divine.
It is because they have no blood of their own,
their golden Ichor replaces our red.
Their chest ever beating, but without a heart.

Oh how I envy the gods,
no blood, no heart, no humanity.
Free to do as they wish,
free from all the pain of emotion.
Free from humanity.
Oh how I envy the gods,
their insuperable power,
their inability to feel pain.

There is a myth, that to error is human,
No. Pain is human. And I'm tired of being in pain.
We wish to be gods, in look, temperament,
in the way that they are affected by nothing,
but they affect everything.
We envy the gods, but why in all of heaven would the gods envy us?