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!