DS (270552 / Australia)


The hubris on my shoulder,
Tells me I cannot lose.
I must be mighty Caesar,
For whom the gods approve.
My actions must be bolder;
The world to shake and move.
The hubris on my shoulder,
Wears well its fleshy groove!

The circus swirls with faces,
As the minions chant my praise.
My horses kick their traces,
In the golden twilight haze.
An ivy crown rests on my head,
A slave is at my ear.
With his whispered words:
'You're not a god',
For only me to hear.

The hubris on my shoulder,
Takes a different tack;
Mistakes are made by lesser beings,
Wherein all greatness lacks.
The hubris on my shoulder,
Decries such desperate acts,
For the genius of the soldier,
Who confronts objective facts.

The hubris on my shoulder,
Marks empires lost and won.
Both as witness and beholder,
Of the damage men have done.
My hubris, like a spider,
Whose silky web is spun,
In the rubric of religion,
Where the cult of fear begun.

With hubris on my shoulder,
I can do just what I choose!
I'm like that Roman geezer,
For whom the gods have use.
The hubris on my shoulder,
Would coil it's ancient noose;
A lethal flaw, much older,
In the blood flow and the juice!

The hubris on my shoulder,
Is an eagle, not a dove.
And I, the stellar actor,
In the play of fates above!
Revenge is served best colder,
By the jealous eye of love.
And the hubris on my shoulder,
Still fits me like a glove!

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