Crucified to the sole Of the world itself Nailed by thoughts Sharper than any blade You hang helpless Self made martyr Cursing the world That doesn't care Why, oh why should it care? Why should anyone care? There is no reward for non-existence For a king in the made up kingdom With the eon moving onward You remained as waste of flesh Stayed behind, as useless void Vain demands are all that's left The goods will weep for you The useless flesh, an empty void! The gods will weep for you The wasted soul, frozen in time! The gods will weep for you The self made king, of nothingness! The gods will weep for you But no one else will even care You proclaim, you don't create You will take but never give Self made God – but just an insect Just a voice that screams demands!