This is the story of my life: I was born out of loneliness, lived through despair, and died from isolation.
And I was still standing, dead on skin and in side, with the legions passing by, in fear and awe. “All hail king Solomon”
Thus, of me, Gods were made, worshipped, and burnt.
And I was still standing, senseless, no smile or tears, as dead people are often, and such are gods.
Days go by and nights. Lives forsaken or sought. And yet I am longing for a feeling, for a drop of mortal life. So are heavenly creatures, so empty inside.
And I was still standing, through the storm of life, as mountains do, and so do gods.
What a futile affair! Words struggled so hard.
And I was still standing, mocking their futility ... the story of my life.