¿Could it be that you and me got lost along the way,
From the barrio back to the gods?
¿Doncha think the wine we drink
Is somewhat-less-than-blessed?
Oh, nevermind Valhalla,
No, nevermind the rest.
My place is here, on the battlefield of Earth.
Don't try to take me away.
The taste of blood from every blow that I incur
Only drains the pain from out my veins,
For the day your ringing ears will hear me say,

[Chorus]
Massimo, where you go I will follow:
Back to Earth, Underworld, or Atlanta;
City Streets sing the beat of Apollo, reborn
In their banter.

Waist-deep in all of it, and deeper by the day
¿Do we cut and run, or do we stay?
¿When the points we make require bullets to convey,
Doncha think we should rethink the game we play?

Without a fight, we're cast adrift, without a plan
In the Underworld's overgrowth.
We'll scale the vines and climb this jungle of the damned,
Toward the canopy, toward the panoply,
The light of day, or doom, or maybe both.

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
¿Maybe there's a switchback to follow up the hill,
Underneath the overgrowth of the mountainside?
We can scale the canyon walls, we've got two mules to ride...
Massimo, find that break in the ice,
Spinning away the current's might, as
Massimo swims back up to the light;
¿Can any man converse with ghosts,
Or traverse terrains impossible?
¡Massimo! ¡Massimo!
The Underworld is calling,

"¡Massimo, where you go I will follow:
Back to Earth, high above, or Atlanta!
Every shadow you cast is Apollo, undone by his cantors
Seeking the answer;
Massimo, down we go on adventures,
Through the shades we abate with our lanterns;
Back on Earth, we're immersed,
As servants, indentured to the answer...

"We're still underground," I hear you say.