O how the evil deep-sea Prakash Saint Paul, right from the start
kept me and my eternal love, Jashmina, apart
Though I sincerely wished I could make him depart
like a dead fish to the deep sea’s mart
I kept my patience for all of eternity
I suffered to the extreme, but did my duty
No existence can have any beauty
when a love so eternal cannot find bounty
I will still not have tears to shed till I am dead
When my enemies hijack and make my gold feel like lead
These armies of mine, for duty, that I defeated
forgive me but be patient, if history is repeated
The gold was stolen, so was the light stolen
what with intricate hands the Supreme had woven
And I must know such strength, even if I am broken
This gift of the Supreme, which is my token
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