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
Libera me domine de morte, aetema in die illa tremenda
It's December, 14th 1503, as the ones above stop their mourning
As the one arrived - selected to foresee - something changed without a warning!
(Libera me domine de morte, aetema in die illa tremenda)
It was born in the time of the Christian God
A boy - so the legend goes - with the Creator's ability
To see what will be , in secret, unrecognized
For he with the reputation of a heretic would be publicly burned
The hand that - lusting after the beautiful - bleeds from the rose thorn
The drive of people greed, punished by God's wrath
He, the mirror of your soul, feels the sadness, sorrow, grief
He, the bearer of this name: Michael de Notre Dame

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