I was on my way to paradise,
When suddenly I found out that I was not exercised
That principles and integrity was not fully developed,
For it’s weaving the crime rate inside my envelope.

On my shoe is the summit that I was formed through the rain,
Through the raindrops are the weapons I will use in my reign.
Under the eight colors of rainbow is the zenith of talk,
Golden hope of the salve on the scalp of the monk!

On the honey of the flower is a life of the bee,
On the hands of the man is the future he may be.
On the shadow of a man is a howling personality,
Of brutality and cruelty on his own identity