If we were born in the same era. I will follow you.
When you see Bucephalus for the first time, you know he's a lifelong companion, comrade-in-arms.
At that time, he was terrified, exhaling desperately and breathing rapidly.
You approach him slowly. soothe him.
He was quiet.
You come on his back. He admits you.
You start running down the hill with him.
The horse's mane flutters, and you feel a moment of freedom.
If it weren't for the smile at that moment, I'd almost forget you're just a kid.
Also from that moment, you started life on horseback.
I follow you.
You who helped your father triumph and return.
In the face of the assassin who has already revealed a fierce look in the crowd.
You look back at your father worriedly, even though he still suspects you of coveting his throne and even threatened to kill you.
But you don't hate him, you never hated him, even if he never regarded you as his own son.
You just love him, you don't want him to die, you love him.
All your efforts are just to get his approval.
All the glory you have achieved is simply to surpass him.
You are a child who has not received the love of a father.
I follow you.
At last your father fell, with horror in his eyes, and
Hephaestion took the crown upon your head, and cried: Great Zeus is above, our king is not dead.
The dazzling sun makes you unable to open your eyes, some people cast doubtful eyes, and more people cheer with Hephaestion.
Passing through the white crowd, you see your mother in red,
and the smile on the face. Evil energy dampened the air around her under the scorching sun.
With your father's blood on your face, holding your father's hand in your hand,
you are terrified and sad, and you are at a loss.
You are crowned, and your human rights are in your hands.
You are helpless and you are longing for.
You are king.
I follow you.
The peace of others is to return to Macedonia with triumphant glory,
who want to lie on their wives' laps and tell their children mysterious stories far in the East.
And your peace is the eagle hovering overhead, the dust billowing from the enemy troops, and
the sunlight reflected on their spears that makes you squint your eyes.
You bow your head to the black horse - Bucephalus who accompanies you across Eurasia and says: Let's go.
At this time, it is your peace, like going home.
After all, you are just a homeless child.
You are forced to be brave in this dark world.
I follow you.
If I was in India then. I am also in your army.
I will also want to go home and I will miss my wife.
I'm not going to continue this shit. I'm just an ordinary soldier.
But I will look at you like a pilgrimage, stand in front of you with my back straight,
quietly watch you angry, and listen to you call me a coward.
Although you are going on an expedition, I am going home.
But my faith belongs to you.
I follow you.
Alexander Sander.
If we were born in the same era.
I'll be one of your soldiers, wrapping you in horsehide.
I will be a scholar in your library and write history for you.
I will be the watchman on your lighthouse and keep the torch for you alone.
Pull out the village and destroy the city, and open up the territory.
I will be for you, I will follow you.
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