Our ancestors dwelt in timber
We clamor to be in the sky.
If only we remember
Our instincts make us fly.

Unlike when we were cave dwellers
The horizon is like our second home.
We no longer hide in our cellars.
The more we grow the more we roam.

If there is only one thing
That we can learn from our past
It’s that we may be called king,
But it just won’t last.