Who Am I? What am I?
The world and the little people it lets thrive within it could not answer me.
Some said I am free, that I am good.
Friend, free from what or who? Good, to who, when and why?
Some said I was nothing, maybe a fraction of something.
They just cannot give an answer, they are unqualified.
So I planned and made a trip.
Up and away to seek counsel with the table of the gods of the East.
I carried a bag half filled with corn and a mighty trumpet fitted with strange air.
My chest shook with fear, I followed the map past the stars.
And when I found them, they were there.
Wrestling for silly power and glory.
They said I am Who I want to be, Whatever fits my skin.
Now look at me, standing on the shadows of what cannot be
Then what is that? To not be or to try to be?
I am Who I want to be, so make way for this laden warrior-king.
I am whatever fits my skin; silver, armor and glory.
Do you understand me?