As dawn is weaving between fallen autumn leaves
The poor ones gather under naked trees
Asking how to survive, 'cause the winter breaks
And medieval coldness now from a deep sleep awakes
Deliver me Lord from eternal death on that dreadful day
It's December, 14th 1503, as the ones above stop their mourning
As the one arrived - selected to foresee - something changed without a warning!
(Deliver me Lord from eternal death on that dreadful day)
He was born in the Christian God's time
A boy, so the legend goes, with the creator's abilities
To see what is to be, secretly, and undetected
For the one with a heretic's reputation would be publicly burned
The hand, that, reaching out for beauty, is bleeding from the rose's thorn
The drive of human avarice, punished by the wrath of God
He, the mirror of your soul, feels the sorrow, the misery, the grief
He, the bearer of this name: Michael of Our Lady