A trumpet blast from the mountaintop As the man in robes descended upon my mother's house. Speaking a tongue, i thought it was my father's... It was not. He handed me a box made of stone Inside a bug, made of wood. And, as per his instructions, I put it in my mouth. However, once there, I found it crawled its way Deep inside my eyeball. I reached in with my hand to retrieve it, But once there i found i required a branch, Or a stick, or a hand of wood to retrieve such a wooden bug. My hand, made of flesh, was useless for such a task. And so, i retreated to the mountains, The land of my father, With the bug stuck so deep inside my eye I could not see And my hand stuck so deep inside my throat I could not speak There, blind and hungry, I pondering the wrongs done to me By the man in robes. He had tricked me, But this would not be the end of my story. And so, with my return, I had learned that for every entrance, An exit For every birth, A death. The man in robes had unjustly entered my life, And so he would exit it. (Don't blame the sea If you can't find the seashore) I walked...