In those deepest wells,
Below those darkest skies,
Clans of frogs lived,
Typical of their talents,
They were ranked on hops' heights,
Least would be him.
Born with a voice,
Sweetest among the nightingales,
Sadly, not the survival key,
'Cause that lock was a delusion,
Created by Him.
Out of desire,
He quit his genus,
Adapted theirs',
A few fake feathers,
And a fake face.
Then he rose with lightning's speed,
For he sang 8 tones,
Breathlessly.
They praised him, crowned him, cuddled His grace,
Atypical of a moral story,
He never got sick of the mask of glamour,
He didn't get drugged, though,
His heart never changed, nor his smile,
For the world sees his talent,
Along with the beauty of his face