Perched upon a golden throne,
I will die with my scepter and the crown of a king.
A prophet, a revolutionary, a shepherd and a guide,
My heart will be preserved in the hourglass of eternity.
And my soul will live on forever,
Dancing upon the thunder of immortality.
My tomb will be a temple,
A shrine of my glory—
Where my followers will burn reverential incense,
And my enemies will lick the floor with their tongues.
My blood will rain down from golden clouds,
And the world will be drenched in the sea of my being.
My flesh will be a monument, a sculpture, a symbol,
An artwork testifying the power of dreams.
My face will shine with the splendor of the Sun,
Enveloping eternity with it’s warmth.
And my voice will reverberate in the multiverse —
Singing, shouting, screaming my name.
The day of my death will be a festival, a celebration.
And the streets will flood with people awed by my magnificence.
The skies will echo with hymns narrating my eminence,
And the chant of my name will be upon every human tongue.
‘Coz when I will die, perched upon my golden throne,
I will be a God.