People call and tell me a story, about this man and his adventure for glory...
He rides on winds made of silk and gold searching for the hero’s of old.
Trapped by his journey and quest, shunning those who know what’s best...
And when he stop in his stead, you know he’s going to drop down dead.
Poor Mr Instigator,
Missed his crew and navigator,
Sailed on to the edge of the map...
And now he can’t get back.
He sings the song of a thousand captains,
He cries to bring forth the thunder...
See’s his God fly by and smile, sit’s and waits... just for awhile.
But deep down inside he knows, a fool’s run only lasts so long...
So long as he’s ready for his end.
Poor Mr Instigator,
Missed his crew and navigator,
Sailed on to the edge of the map...
Can’t get back... can’t get back...
Pulling on his reigns as he draws close to the eye...
Tempest summons, prepare to die...
Dive in deep to the storm of the sea...
Some men challenge for the right to be free...
And on that day when the ship crashes in...
His new life yet to begin, creep onto the shoreline...
Looking for that immortal sign...
Life not lost.
Wrapped in his blanket of comfort made from his dreams,
Covering the cries of the hunger screams...
Losing himself in his eye’s gleam...
Life not lost, or so it seems.
Poor Mr Instigator...
Lost his crew... and Navigator...
Lost his Strife, Lost his Life.
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