The fires of fever consume Alexander
Just as the sly wizards of Babylon forewarned
The trumpet is silent; the ride of the heroes has come to a halt
The King of the world is locked
In a deadly struggle with the Lord of the underworld
But he has yet one fight in him left
Chaldean poisons of the Semite magi
Could not mar the water of life
Running through his veins
For legends never die!
Alexander was shrouded in the golden mists of the sky
Called by Zeus the Father on high
He flew like an eagle soaring towards the sun
To claim immortality's crown
Made of Faethon's living light