I stand on liberty, moral eptitude, excluding reason, strangled by syntax,
exacted presumptions on my shoulders, wishing to flee the cursed guest I take my tribute from.
For I do not wish to be the beacon of Hercules, nor the burden of a goat.
Sauce for the banquet of humility is of plenty, and I can douse my meager meal with envy too.
There is no crash of mortar as my pedestal collapses. No, it is only to be built again by conflicted hands.
I must! And why not? I’ll knock on the door of respite at my leisure.
I decline to hail the Prince for the guilt of the ages.- Sinz