Wounded by ancient literature

The tyrant runs,

Forever hunted by his creation

Wincing in the miasma of his own dogma,

Fate levitates before me, like a leech

Humbly acknowleding

Perfectly submissive, yet critically rebellious

One by one I send for the free

Applauding as their consciences crack,

Happy are the blind, the deaf, the insane

Highlight my darkness for the sake of history,

My time is upon you

The silent emperor, the neophyte