B'yond a sea of grass, an' past a sea of water, over a sea 'f mountains an' further th'n a sea of sand; there's a tower.
It's a big tower, an' it's a tall tower, with bright white stones an' columns veined with silver. Its halls 're covered with the richest carpets, an' archways 're carved with thousands 'f carvings, from roarin' lions, to tiny fawns hidin' in the grass. Jewels 're inset in the walls, over the doorways, an' each level's more precious, more beaut'ful th'n the previous.
'Cause you see, there's a god that lives there.
Atop the tower, 't the highest height; he watches the world b'low him, safe at the top of it, 'way from the monsters that wanna swallow him. He watches an' he wills things to exist, chooses 'f there's gonna be rain, or 'f there's gonna be sunshine, calls up gold an' diamonds when he's bored.
Below him, his world spreads out-- with forests burstin' outta rocks, an' a tree with crystal leaves. Fruits 's bright as jew'ls, an' creatures dart 'round the flowers that grow wherever he wants. The world he create's so lovely, people say the rain drifts gently when he calls for it, outta fear that it might damage the land.
Many trav'lers ask to meet this god, 'top his tower, overlookin' so much beauty. But y'should hope that he never agrees. Hope that he stays hidd'n. 'Cause you see, he has t' take that beauty fr'm somewhere, right?
Some say that he steals it from those 'round him. That the priests 're covered from head t' toes, tryin' to keep their ugliness hidd'n. Some say that he steals it from those who've seen him. Some even say, that sometimes that's not enough, an' he'll reach out an' take their life too; 'cause you can't reason with a god; especially not one who's locked 'top a tower, who's bored an' makes diamonds an' gold t' pass time, an who's only pleasure's 'bout making the world around him bend t' his will.
But that's a legend from across the sea. Past a sea 'f grass an' a sea of water, over a sea 'f mountains an' further th'n a sea of sand.
The Imprisoned God
It's a big tower, an' it's a tall tower, with bright white stones an' columns veined with silver. Its halls 're covered with the richest carpets, an' archways 're carved with thousands 'f carvings, from roarin' lions, to tiny fawns hidin' in the grass. Jewels 're inset in the walls, over the doorways, an' each level's more precious, more beaut'ful th'n the previous.
'Cause you see, there's a god that lives there.
Atop the tower, 't the highest height; he watches the world b'low him, safe at the top of it, 'way from the monsters that wanna swallow him. He watches an' he wills things to exist, chooses 'f there's gonna be rain, or 'f there's gonna be sunshine, calls up gold an' diamonds when he's bored.
Below him, his world spreads out-- with forests burstin' outta rocks, an' a tree with crystal leaves. Fruits 's bright as jew'ls, an' creatures dart 'round the flowers that grow wherever he wants. The world he create's so lovely, people say the rain drifts gently when he calls for it, outta fear that it might damage the land.
Many trav'lers ask to meet this god, 'top his tower, overlookin' so much beauty. But y'should hope that he never agrees. Hope that he stays hidd'n. 'Cause you see, he has t' take that beauty fr'm somewhere, right?
Some say that he steals it from those 'round him. That the priests 're covered from head t' toes, tryin' to keep their ugliness hidd'n. Some say that he steals it from those who've seen him. Some even say, that sometimes that's not enough, an' he'll reach out an' take their life too; 'cause you can't reason with a god; especially not one who's locked 'top a tower, who's bored an' makes diamonds an' gold t' pass time, an who's only pleasure's 'bout making the world around him bend t' his will.
But that's a legend from across the sea. Past a sea 'f grass an' a sea of water, over a sea 'f mountains an' further th'n a sea of sand.