F.C.Porto Tribute

I am no scholar of polished grace,
I blame the monkey beneath my skin,
An ape who stares at the human race,
And wonders where the work should begin.
I beat my chest at the turning earth,
With ink on my hands and a restless mind,
A primitive artist of chaotic birth,
Desperate to leave a better world behind.
They build their towers of glass and stone,
While I swing wild through the canopy of art.
They sit in their logic, cold and alone,
While a universe rages inside my heart.
I reach for the sky with clumsy hands,
To tear down the cages we build out of fear,
To scatter the borders of stagnant lands,
And howl till the deafened masses can hear.
For within this primate burns Dragon’s Fire,
A Galactic Passion that swallows the dark.
It isn’t a myth, but the raw desire,
The cosmic collision that strikes the spark.
The dragon is fury, the dragon is truth,
It sleeps in the belly of those who dare,
It lends the weary its endless youth,
And burns into ash what is foul and bare.
Listen, and learn from the beast with the pen,
Here is the secret of the world you tread:
You do not need to be perfect like them,
For the quiet and flawless are often dead.
Do not hide the animal pacing inside,
The part of your soul that is messy and real.
The intellect often has too much pride,
But the monkey remembers just how to Feel.
Embrace the creature who makes mistakes,
Who screams at the stars and refuses to yield.
For that is the vessel the dragon wakes,
The ultimate weapon you learn to wield.
So let them mock the paint on your face,
And let them laugh at your chaotic dance.
It takes a wild ape with a cosmic embrace,
To give this reality half a chance.
Breathe in the fire, let the passion ignite,
Hold fast to the vision your wild heart sees.
We'll burn down the shadows and author the light,
Just monkeys with dragons, shaking the trees.