Perhaps I should give my thanks,
To the ones who rule the world,
Not the world we see, but the world,
That lies below, the world of hell.
I called on them, not once nor twice,
Not thrice, but on countless occasions,
It wasn't always this way in the past,
I was a proud devout son of Olympus.
I chanted deep prayers for them,
Long after their ears went deaf,
I'd show them my shocking loyalty,
Long after their eyes turned blind.
In the coldest night of the long winter,
I called upon with what little strength,
The cruel cold had been unable to take,
Again as they always had, they ignored.
I was certain that the end was nigh,
I was certain the insignificant flame,
Which represented my broken life,
Was on the verge of being extinguished.
As my sight was fading,
As my body turned light,
As my spirit was crying,
As my heart was slowing.
I heard an Angel call my name,
But the angel was an unfamiliar,
She wasn't the Angel of Olympus,
She was the Angel of Worlds Below.
Much had been spoken of their power,
Unending might at their grasp eternal,
For anyone who would ever call them,
But all knew, their price was too steep.
The Angel called, I listened to her words,
She promised me, swore upon the blood,
The blood, the only thing sacred down below,
The blood, the only currency Worlds Below.
I thought long and hard, I thought,
Of what price the world below,
Would seek from a son of Olympus?
My soul and mind were devoted.
The Angel spoke again, I listened again,
She spoke of the gift humanity holds,
The wondrous gift of our own free will,
The ability to forsake everything and be free.
I thought again, long and hard,
My life was over, my spirit dead,
My heart pounding its last drums,
My mind was lost to the oblivion.
All my thinking yielded an answer,
I am not the one who is forsaking,
The gods turned their care from me,
Despite my unparalleled devotion.
I took the Angel's hand and asked her,
"Tell me now, all that I must see done,
To command the power of your lords,
To save my own flesh from turning to ash"
The Angel smiled and touched my heart,
Her hand slipped through my cold chest,
Into the tomb in which my cold heart rested,
She touched it and I felt it beat wildly again.
With every beat of my resurrected heart,
My spirit was revived but something was new,
Something was surely different, I felt it again,
As my feet found their strength I felt the power.
The power of the Lords of Worlds Below,
Thrust into my very being, fuelled by it,
At first fear gripped me, but that was gone,
I knew the power of Worlds Below was dark.
But what do these commoners know of life?
They're minds so narrow, so meek, so ordinary,
How could they possibly understand a higher mind?
How could they possibly understand such power?
