Leave me be A snowy owl above the haunted waters Poet of ancient gods Cries to tell the never ending story Prophecy of becoming floods An aura of mystery surrounds her The lady in brightest white Soon the incarnate shall be born The Creator of the Night

It's right in front of me The throne of maladies Your malignancy They say I ain't bad I'm the best that I've had And I know it ain't right But I'll fight my whole life The prophecy will be realized Lord of the near and the nigh

A night of poetry and motion The prophecy in destiny was falling And calling out to me And will we find our destination Within a time of resignation At 69, until the end of time Around the world in eighty days we sailed the

We won't be here tomorrow, hold on to me for one last time Voice your prophecy, shed us some light Fell sorrow for mankind's chance to survive Swallowed lies and swam in your own tears A stab in the dark and it wounded our will Man's coming more corrupt

And the prophecy read that One day like the pheonix rose from the ashes That a boy will be born unto a family in the slums This boy will go on and use the knowledge that he gains While fighting for survival in the streets To become a crack leader And in

To fight on the blood-red mountainside To vanquish the rapacious beast North of the yew grove Home of the prosperous High Princess of Noreia To end the age of distress To fulfill the prophecy enthean

I am Nostradamus I am the darkness Born out of light I am the force the fire That burns here tonight Bringing the future To all mankind Guider of life, of death The sight of the blind

And what you've seen isn't there anymore Just like it has before Now we can say that nothing's lost and only change brings round the prophecy Where now it's melting, the solid frost was once a veil on greener landscapes we would see Beneath my surface

Leave me be A snowy owl above the haunted waters Poet of ancient gods Cries to tell the never ending story Prophecy of becoming floods An aura of mystery surrounds her The lady in brightest white Soon the incarnate shall be born The Creator of the Night

Two-thousand and seventeen master! Every two-thousand years a prophecy is prophesied The mission To carry out the word of the shepherd into this cold world That just keeps folding I don't know, Who is the group