I venture quiet deeply in all the halls of the beasts,
Plotting all my steps and the position of my feet,
The attitude of my eyes and the spirit underneath,
Determining the future behind my gritted teeth
On the surface you can see me floating placid, peaceful, calm,
Intoxicating slowly like the liquor of the palm,
Aware of all surroundings whatever may become,
I look to meet the master, Napoleon on the farm
My mission stretches backwards, catapulting me through time,
To fossilize the remnants of the essence of “You die,”
I meet every slaver, every tyrant and I’m not afraid to pry,
To understand the machinations of the murderous of mind,
I brandish my sharpest weapon, the simple question, “why?”
And I verify the answers as I look into their eyes
Among the living there is a menace,
Glorification of bad ideas,
The raising of the heinous,
Dictatorial policy.
So I go about my ways of capturing evil in a flask,
Of the millions of grains of sand that I turn into a glass,
The mummified remains of tombs and tombs of power,
I tilt them back and forth with the changing of the hours.
