Anarchy was sprinting Beaming like a conqueror taking a victory march It was having a ball inside his veins And then the man who had everything Wanted nothing more but just a speck of deliverance So they summoned a shepherd who played a tune Which brought peace to the king and he was troubled no more * Since that day the sound of those chords Still echo till the ends of this earth Mutating itself for every mortal soul That falls in a pit of its own reality Dejected, despairing, destroyed, devoured Setting them free once they find it . . . . . . . . . And I lost it.