Bequeathed to sons,
by the fathers of life,
dreams have sprouted,
protected by the angel Afriel,
mother Earth shall bid us farewell,
our lives shall pass beyond the heavens,
luckier than the number seven,
a gleaming star,
none at par,
But some dreams havea bad ending,
we are never pretending,
Apollo watches over mans life.
A sweet lullaby as the little one's blossom,
the young one grows and begins to dream,
and looks one that is beseem,
he looks at us,
we look at him,
we tell him,
all you have to do is look within.
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