He's a believer of destiny but thinks he can control his.
And he crinks his nose when I turn on my head-banging playlist
But he sings along with the Bread and Eagles songs.
As if those were not rock bands all along.
He believes in a minotour as much as he believes in a bull,
Only the latter can't kill him with fear creeping into his soul.
And now he is the monkey on my back
Trying to fish thoughts inside my mind for luck.
And our destiny are like straws in a wisp.
The unlucky ones are called doomed in creeps.
While the lucky ones called theirs a prophesy
And I can see his as a prodigy.
"Soldier deed beguiled on a madness!"