Out of the light that glares on me--
That shines even through a black-hole--
I think of death of God to be
The best victory of my soul
Because of my profane stance
I must not preach nor shout aloud
Under the hatred of God's fans,
My head is ready, sound and proud
I have my share of shame and tears
Yet to death I am not afraid
And thus I know I have few peers--
Life shall find us never to jade
Nietzsche stands beyond the gate,
As Camus' rock starts to fall--
I become master of my fate
When I could see no final goal
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