In this desert for 40 days Voices tell me the ways I first believed in demons, but it is not They are older units, real They ask me to write a book, cursed If they will let me die of thirst (They ordered me) Sitting on the edge of a dune, they dictated to me Like whispers of Jinns they force me to write Incantations to invoke these gods Cursed bible, obscene words Alone in the desert I lose my sanity And I write the end of humanity No place to escape I'm no more than a shape "Listen to us poor human, your book should begin with thisThat is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die" I write pages and pages, My hand is bleeding, for this book of rages Now they found me in the crowd Invisibles, they devour me I would end up in a shroud No one can help me