I poßeß three eyes when I write,
The future see but when I read,
Enslave the maßes with my talk,
But if me you ask, I say is balk.
I thought I kennad right from wrong,
I thought I kennad the one true path,
I see now that my eyes are split,
My mind disdains what's from my lips.
Here I am with my willing slaves,
They love me so, though I call them knaves,
How could they match my intellect;
When for guidance to me he caves?
Here I am, alone at last,
My throne was built of illusion's glaß,
The buffoonish maßes overthrew me fast,
I see too late that I served my claß.
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