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My hour Glass is broken,
The sands are round my feet,
Wind lifts the tiny grains,
I breath them when I eat

The eye of Ra stares at me,
I sweat beneath his gaze,
Can you smell my flesh cooking,
Like ham with honey glaze

Judges bid me do their will,
I can do nought but obey,
For after all I am not their King,
and cannot have it my way

Let me lie in oblivious though and be filled with imagination,
The empty mind is fertile ground were sprouts my creation...