If we go back to when he was born in a nebula, We know that he never was thought of as regular, Because he had a flair about him, To say the Midas touch is wrong But all he went near seemed to turn a little bronze,
Dacă ne-ntoarcem în nebuloasă, la nașterea sa, Știm că n-a fost nicicând obișnuit, Avea o strălucire, un licărit, Nu era a lui Midas, atingerea, Dar totul în jur devenea bronz, oriunde mergea.