Silent is the night on which we are born,

clueless of the future that has been predicted for us.

Perfect is the world in which we remain hidden from our father's eyes,

without the necessity to open our wings and fly.

He, mighty Cronus, holds our future in his hands.

Our destiny, threatened by his metal teeth, shrivels as it hears him approach.

Green mother taught us how to gather up our things and prepare to fight,

but his eye reaches farther than the horizon and that we can't escape.

Pidgeons, needing to grow and someday replace father

are getting devoured by his greed and uncertainty.

He does, because he can;

We hardly fly, because he eats our wings fist.

After he eats our wings, he eats our legs and slowly eats the rest;

we can only watch, as all that we were meant to be vanishes before our very eyes.