My hands - pinioned,
And the snow flakes falling around me.
That shattered the protocols of man-kind.
(Matter, the inside of my inventions,
portends satanic implications to them;
yields cynical, fervent madness to me.)
Will never surrender to mediocrity.
The chains and the cyanide
Would kill me
But not my ego of erotic vehemence.
They can't kill my work,
They can't kill what i deeply believe in!
I stand frozen
In the network of my assertiveness.