A world without light is an endless sleep, Where hunger reigns, yet lords all turn away; The screams of pain make even cold gods weep, Prometheus himself rose for the day. He could not see the scars of every man, In silence stole the spark of sacred fire; To give us light and help us all he can, Against the will of Zeus, the heaven's sire. He chose to suffer for all humankind, Upon the rock where lonely eagles scream; To break the heavy chains that kept us blind, Through liver’s pain—an endless, waking dream. The fire of will still burns in every home, His sacrifice stands higher than a dome.