Will I lift up my hands
And scatter the shrilling bones
that lured me
The word of the stinking cow hide
drum
The gulping of the dead legions.

I sought to be a cannibal
I built walls, I set bridges
I wanted to see myself -
reflected
In gleam of the dead tree
And the satiric movement
of water.

My chants were only sung
To raise myself above disorders
That only issues of predisposition
Could lay claim on.

Now, my demons play tricks
on my mind
The dead heroes I incited -
Theirs was a glory
never mine
An honour long sunk
In the dark sands of history.

Wind-whipped, I have to turn
my head backwards
The journey has ended
There are no more miles
to cover.

The fingers of my mind
will have to curl inwards
I will have to be content
that in the dark secrets
of history
my mind has no share.