by Benjamin Bächle
Even as a child I was a slave -
but at least I had my dreams,
where I was a hero, strong and brave.
I didn't know, what hero means.
My saviours came from far away
and I helped them with my skills.
A part of me wanted to stay,
but I thought destiny fulfils.
They all were afraid of me.
I was a slave of fear, afraid of loosing.
A hero was, what I wanted to be,
but the reality was confusing.
My first Master had to leave,
but I could stay, become a hero.
It was what I wanted to achieve,
but my freedom was like zero.
I was the councils' puppet, nothing more,
not able to use my full potential.
A slave of doctrines without lore,
without the truths, which were essential.
My mother died, a war did start,
my love and feelings had to be hidden.
Everything did fall apart,
the things I wanted were forbidden.
She was all I had, why should I loose
the only person I needed to stay?
For her I made my final choose
and went a dark and painful way.
I became a slave of anger and of hate,
of suffering, violence and of pain.
For redemption it was far to late.
Darkness was all I could obtain.
A slave of the Jedi and Sith as well.
A slave of religions, governments and institutes,
of the Hutts, Republic, Empire and not to tell
a slave of the prophecy which now concludes.
Now I brought balance to the force.
Jedi and Sith, they both are gone.
I have been the good and evils' source.
In death I get my freedom as the chosen one.