On the loins of the fever’s deliriums I crossed the hells of opium. Without my eyes I can see beyond all the stars. I’m the writer of the emerald table, Pythia at the delphic oracle, I’m a babylon whore. I see the ancient races, the immigrants of atlantis and lemuria, the billions of lives that have preceded me. I'm an isis priest, a slave in egypt, Tarpeya crushed, pupil of socrates; I parade with the imperial legions, The aeneas descendant. I take a billion forms, I know all the lives, I feel the entire universe’s knowledge, But where does the divine grace hide? Where are the wasted prayers thrown into despair? I exist in all beings and all beings exist in me, I feel myself in communion with the earth, But god isn't in me.