Liege and lord, whom I've abhored, I do entreat, I do adjure: Liege and lord, restore my child to me. Lord and liege, with bleakest grief, am I beset, so I beseech: Lord and liege, restore my child to me. Liege and lord, whom I've ignored, now I do plead, and I implore: Liege and lord, restore my child to me. Lord and liege, my broken plea, with broken throat, for clemency: Lord and liege, restore my child to me. Restore into my hands the orphan baby I abandoned! The tiny light whose life I could not save! For in the very blood that binds us lives the gravity that grinds us to our graves! Lord of pain, suzerain, the useless sun, it shines again: Lord of pain, restore my child to me. Lord of war, manticore, source of all fallacious lore: Lord of war, restore my child to me. Lord of death, monolith, a feather drifts on my wasted breath: Lord of death, restore my child to me. Restore into my hands the orphan baby I abandoned! The tiny light whose life I could not save! For in the very blood that binds us lives the gravity that grinds us to our graves! But I swear that I'll unearth the fraud with crooked hands that work like God to manifest illusions of control-that the liege and lord disguises in indifferent suns that rise upon our souls!