Man. Before all is set into motion;
The Guardian Warriors of a higher notion.
Received by the greatest in pride, crippled-all.
Turning from the hands of creation, they fall.

Man. Out of the dust, is born with new life.
Given chance for anew without strife.
A voice, rising to meet the sweet kiss of the sky;
The lips left dripping like honey, out flowing every lie.

Man. Marked with The stench of Death;
Yet, given life through, by the Maker's breath.
Delicate is the balance of this fragile thing,
Limited is the body, flowing freely the soul beyond them.

Man. Blinded with love; For something greater,
Subject to the gravity of self, Pride becomes Praetor.
Apathy growing in rapid expanse and expensity.
Given over to the enemy, to fuel the enemy.

Man calls to his maker; In his time of desperation
In truth and ideal sacrifice, the soul gains salvation.