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!