I was born blind.
I was covered with a shroud on my eyes and i've spent my life waiting,
Searching from all by my eyes.
My hands are now calloused, i don't feel from them anymore.
But still looking, always searching, for a sight of the light.
I've heard a shining tale, an explanation, for my lack of sight.
For the blindness that pushes me, that breaks my teeth,
That covers my body with mud.
This fable calls my darkness my own.

Vision eludes me with my permission.
All i have to do it open my eyes.

But i don't think that's right.