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Abortion of science, ruler of critters

Designed to be sold off to the highest bidder

Sign of the end of what’s natural

Mixture of two seas, flightless admiral

Soar above the lands

Search for love that it won’t find

Solus avem

Only of its kind

Desperately scours through it’s desolation

Cry out in agony, soul isolation

Bitter and hollow

It feeds to no end

No solace, no kin, it forever distends

Soar above the lands

Search for love that it won’t find

Solus avem

Only of its kind

To belong is its only desire

Be embraced by the grass or the fire

Will its ardor ever be known?

Will there be any end to its throes?