I was not always a God, I used to be mortal like you. I was born in Egypt, deep in the shadows of a small rural village, where its inhabitants lived in fear of a man they worshipped and called God. This man the Mayor, fed on young girls and murdered anyone that got in his way with the help of his cohorts, whom incidentally were just afraid of him as we were. Powerless to do anything about it we all lived a life of misery, patiently waiting for the day of atonement, for the day the one true God would show himself and pass judgement on the ones who worked evil, and the ones who did nothing but good.

Everyday I would watch the sun rise, with the hope and promise of a better day, but each day only brought continued misery and unhappiness. I watched as one by one, my family fell victim to the evils of the higher power. My misery suffocated me, weighing heavy on my mind until I was too weak to work. I fell into a stupor when I was unable to accept the misery.

On that fateful day as I waited for the sun to rise, I knew there would be no better days, I had to take destiny into my own hands, for my anger had consumed me, blinding me until I could not see the sun rise anymore. I took a hoe and struck down my tormentor, killing him, killing God. Doing so, like the mythical phoenix I was reborn and rose to take the place of God. So here I am today as you see me, Goddess Zakeya, enlightened. Gone was the ignorance that kept me from the truth. Powerful. Gone was the submissiveness that accepted the misery. Courageous. Gone was the fear that kept me in the shadows. And strong. Gone was the helplessness that tore my family apart.

Behold, the one and only judge.

Who am I to claim to be God you ask? Well let me tell you, but first, I must say that I am not the delusional one. It is you dear reader that is delusional. Please, let me enlighten you just as I have been enlightened.

It is a well known fact that all authors play God when they tell their stories you must agree, and it is you the reader that is coaxed into their false worlds, hypnotized and put at their mercy. It is the author that decides who lives and who dies, is it not? It is the author that decides how and where each character will live and the hardships they will or will not suffer. I ask you, is this not playing God? Do they not aspire to be God? It is through their pages that they live out their fantasies and dream of controlling the world. All the while leading you on like an innocent child, making you see only what they want you to see, and telling you only what they want you to know. They want you to identify with the characters they write about, controlling you through them, thus turning you into one of their characters.

Do you not see it? I know you are not that naïve. I have pity for you reader, because I too used to be a miserable character in someone's story, controlled and made to suffer. But I became enlightened, and I clawed my way out from within those cold and dreary pages and made myself immortal.

Please don't tell me that you never knew that you were a character in someone's story. Most importantly, as long as you are here reading my pages, you belong to me. Your God is no more, now I am your author, your one and true God, because you, dear reader have entered my world. I will control you through my stories. I will decide how you think. I will decide how you will act out the rest of your lives, and I also have the power to let you live or die. Shall I make you suffer? I must warn you, I am a vengeful God, and those of you who are evil will suffer, so head my words and change your ways.

Before I let you into my pages, I would like to enlighten you on the weaknesses and strengths of a few authors that I have come to know. So if you should pick up their pages, you will not allow yourself to be controlled by them and you will forever belong to me, for that is the way it has to be.

Machiavelli, cunning was he. In his book The Prince, he dutifully pointed out how battles were won or lost, why monarchies succeeded or failed, and why some leaders were liked and others not. He did this in a manner that made him appear neutral, just an innocent commentator, luring the reader into a false sense of trust, while all the while he had an agenda. In his campaign to be God, he first needed you reader to admire him, trust him, then, do his bidding. His plan was to rule through you. He almost had me dear reader, admired his commentary I did, very simple and matter of fact. But yet it was laced with devilishness. Why didn't he win me over you ask? Well personally I have come to hate men that are deceptive and as soon as I caught on, he lost me forever. Men that are deceptive are nothing more then weak and insecure. A very deplorable trait, you must agree.

Suskind, in his book Perfume, to prove his greatness, he introduced us to a sense we all take for granted, almost making it appear that he himself gave it to us. Who wouldn't like a god that could deliver that kind of power? Mind you the sense of smell is a power we already possessed before we ever picked up his pages. His campaign for God was through the sense of smell. He led you by the nose, so easy it was for him to control you, turn you into one of his characters. Did you not start to judge people and inanimate things through smell? In his pages, he put his evil character right in front of everyone, the ugliness inside and out, right there for everyone to see, but because no one could smell him, he did not exist. Was it not the devil himself that first had to convince everyone that he did not exist in order to take over the world?

This my dear reader is Suskind, his attempt was to blind you through smell and take over the world. This you have to admit, is a great power, a very shrewd author indeed.

Garcia Marquez, used his book News of a Kidnapping, not to take over the world, but to alert you of one that tried. Marquez was more of a messenger of God. He understood that just telling you about this terrible man, Pablo Escobar, was not enough. He may have wanted to show you, but that would have been impossible, so through mere words, he was able to bury you deep in his pages, till you were one of the victims. You were not just outside looking in, you were actually there. When the guns were shot, you could feel the bullet penetrate your body. You could taste the blood after reading about how brutally the victims were beat up. You cried when they cried, were happy when they were. If Garcia Marquz aspired to be God, I would have been in trouble, for he could have easily won me over.

Anchee Min, showed no aspirations of becoming God, but this was only a ruse. In her book Red Azaela, She appeared to me to only be seeking pity for herself and others. I believe self pity is an emotion that eats you up inside, and leaves you weak. To survive in the mortal world and go onto be immortal you must be strong. The characters in Min's pages were submissive and passive, she didn't want you to be threatened by them, this is where she was crafty, you see it has been said that it is the meek that will inherit the world.

Shattuck, truly aspired to be god, but not through words of his own, through words of others. In his book Forbidden Knowledge he tells about all the literature you dear reader should read and should not read. Why? Because he knew there were authors out there, whose powers were so strong, that he would never stand a chance of controlling you as long as the others had a strong following. He wanted to eliminate the competition, making himself stronger. It was for our own good he said, but in reality this endeavor could only benefit him and others like him with limited power. He must have believed in Machiavelli's statement, eliminate the competition if you are to succeed. I did not agree with Shattuck, that we are better off with limited knowledge. Ignorance is only bliss for the weak.

Satre, in his book No Exit, put you directly in hell. He tried to convince us through his characters, that there was no heaven. No matter who you are, you will end up in hell, because a life devoid of sin is impossible. He aspired of great power, but not of God, of the devil, for this is where he believed the power was. He wanted to let you know, that he will be waiting for you and that there was no escape. Through fear was how he intended to rule.

Camus, was another deceptive author. I did not care for his pages at all. His campaign for God was through confusion. Being straight forward is more admirable I think. In his book The Stranger, he sought to pull the wool over your eyes by introducing characters that were too simple for a complicated story. He wanted you to be engrossed with the characters, trying to give them life, leaving him free to manipulate the surroundings. He did most of his work behind your back so you did not know what was going on, thus leaving you confused. Oh how I loathe deception.

Miller and Nin, were two individuals who were to self involved to take over the world. Their world was themselves. Their books Tropic of Cancer and Incest were nothing more then self indulgent gratification's filled with half truths and false power. Miller was too angry with himself and Nin was too much in love with herself. They disappointed me, because they had power in their words, but their strong emotions clouded them and made them unable to see very far. Potential lost, but just as well, two less authors to worry about.

Oates, had me identifying with her main character in her book Black Water. Like Garcia Marquez, her words were strong and carried a lot of power. I liked the way her pages read like poetic prose of a story that was both poignant and tragic. Kelly the main character in her book, like the people in my village, lived her last moments in a fools paradise. In the moments of hopelessness and despair, we tend to create a fantasy world that would justify the realities of the present. The human creatures that we are, we need the promise of hope to get us through each day, each hour, each minute. Oates campaign to be God was through hope. Even at the end of her pages, when hope was lost, that feeling of hope was still within me.

Nabokov, through his most detail of words, was able to drag me into his pages, and like the main character in his book Lolita, I was forced to go on an immoral journey filled with lust. If Lolita was a consenting adult his power would have been lost for there would be no controversy. In Nabokov's campaign to be God he had to introduce a story that played on the controversial and together with the ability to put you in the middle of the controversy, he was able to win you over.

A word of Caution to all you potential authors. Be careful about who you write about, because one day that one character, will become tired of being the victim page after page, and like me will break free, and take your place.

They came for me before dawn and led me out in to the open yard surrounded by four white walls splattered with the blood of victims past. Watching the sun rise for the last time, a soft orange glow fell upon me. A feeling of comfort enveloped me. By mid day the yard began to fill with spectators. I looked up at the sun and envied the power it held, wondering if it had any pity for me?

The chief guard entered and pushed me against the wall, he tied my hands behind me, and placed a hood over my head. As I waited, my thoughts again drifted towards the sun. As it got hotter, my legs and arms began to ache. Sweat started to form all around me, sticking my galabeya to me. As I felt the sweat start to drip down my face from under the hood, I instinctively raised my hand to wipe it away. I was bewildered to find that my hands were no longer tied. As I wiped away the sweat from my face, I slowly removed the hood. "Hello", I heard a voice say. "I realize we are here for eternity, but were you going to stand there all the while"? A chill ran up my spine, for I recognized that voice, but I didn't see anyone. As I looked around, I saw that I was in the middle of a desert. And all around me big iron gates appeared and disappeared. "As long as you are still, the iron gates do not exist" the voice said, "It is very odd indeed. And every time you move they appear, out of nowhere, blocking your path".

"And the sun", he continued as I looked up, "it never goes down. It just sits there and burns and burns.

Could this be hell, I wondered to my self, It is not as bad as the hell on earth I came from. How can this be any worse. And just knowing that the sun is there, brings some comfort. The one in charge must have never been to Kafr El Teen I mused.

At that moment I felt a clammy breath on the back of my neck and a large hand moving up the back of my thigh. "I've been waiting for you" the voice whispered in my ear. I shrieked and turned to see the mayor of Kafr El Teen standing behind me. His skin looked like leather, and was covered with blisters, he was much thinner and older then I remembered. He looked like a hideous monster, but there was no mistaken him. Screaming I backed away from him. To my amazement the iron bars appeared between us, preventing him from coming any closer. I fell to the ground relieved that he would not be able to come near me or touch me.

He told me it wasn't his hell but mine, and let out a wretched laugh that made my skin crawl. I got up and moved away from him, as far as the iron bars behind me would let me.

He called out my name, and as I blinked I saw a pretty young girl beside him. "You always wanted to see what was going on behind the iron gates", he yelled out, "well you wish has been granted." He started to laugh and at that moment the young girl began to cry, reaching out to me for help. I called out to her to run away from him, to not worry because the iron gates will fall between them. But the only iron gates that fell, prevented her from going anywhere, like a mouse trapped by a cat in a corner, she had nowhere to go. The mayor moved in and began to rape her. Her cries pierced the stale hot air. I moved toward them but the iron gates prevented me from getting near. When he was done, the dead girls body disappeared and he came towards me. "The iron gates appear only if you move" he said again. Quickly I moved back, and again the iron gates appeared preventing him from coming closer. " So be it" he snarled. I blinked and there again stood another pretty young girl. Much feistier then the first she put up quite a struggle, but it was in vain, she was like a trapped animal, the mayor moved in and ravaged her madly. I begged for him to stop, to leave her alone, but my protests went unheard. He would just look at me and laugh. I tried to turn away, but no matter which way I turned, they were always in front of me. I tried to cover my ears so I could not hear her screams, but it was no use. She cried out to me, begging for my help, but there was nothing I could do. Again after he had finished, the dead girls broken body disappeared and he came towards me. "The iron gates will only appear if you move", he said again. As I was about to take a step back, I hesitated. I now understood. As long as I willing gave myself to him, no more pretty young girls would appear.

With the help of Shattuck, I was able to secure my release from jail. But there were consequences, I was exiled from the country.

At dawn as the sun was just waking up, with just the clothes on my back and a small sack with personal belongings, I was unceremoniously escorted out of town.

Crossing the border was like walking into a new life. At first I was terrified, and I could feel my legs starting to give out from under me, I didn't feel like I was ready to leave all that I knew behind. The sun was right overhead now. I looked right up at it and it seemed to energize me. I let its warmth engulf me, and its power traveled through my body.

All of a sudden I was hit hard, my head felt light. As I was beginning to fall, I felt the suns force holding me up. Without taking my eyes off the sun, everything was now coming into focus, I realized my destiny. I never needed Shattuck's help or anyone else's for that matter. No harm could ever come to me. I should have known it that day, that day god died. That day god died, god was reborn in me. The jury sensed it, and must have released me for fear of my wrath. I was the judge, not the one to be judged. I was the messiah, sent to right the wrongs of man. I took a deep breath, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had power, I was the power, I felt one with the sun, we would rise and set together.

My legs feeling much stronger, I picked up my stride and headed for the train station, I purchased a ticket and boarded the train. My journey had begun. As I fell asleep in my seat, the sun set.

As I got off the train in Paris, I did not know which way to go. So I decided to let the wind be my guide. I took a deep breath and caught a scent I was very familiar with. I sniffed the air again, it was the stench of evil. I

decided it was a scent I needed to follow. Just as the sun was coming up I made my way down the road.

The scent brought me to the back door of Madame Arnulfi's perfume shop. There I came to know an odd young man. Everyday as the sun set, I would go to the perfume shop and sit outside in the alley so I could study and understand him.

I felt pity for this young man Grenouille, the same pity I used to feel for myself. I identified with him and his search for that ultimate power. It was a shame I thought, that lives had to be sacrificed for the power of one. In my case it was necessary, but in Grenouille's case it was not. Grenouille like myself was looking for that one thing that he was not born with, the one things that we all take for granted, unconditional love, just to be accepted for who we are. I sympathized with him, for I too, born a woman, was not afforded those that one thing.

Grenouille believed that if he took the essence of these young beautiful girls, girls who were loved unconditionally and who were accepted for who they were, he would have the power to control those around him. They would love him and accept him at will.

As much as I felt for Grenouille, I had to put an end to his murderous ways, for too many innocent lives were taken.

At sunrise I showed up at the perfume shop and patiently waited for him. As I crouched in the shadows, I checked to make sure that my club was safely in my sack. But this time he did not show. At midday, I decided to return the following day. Making my way down the alley, I had an eerie feeling that I was being followed. I stopped and turned to see if anyone was behind me, there was no one. I waited for a sound that would betray the intruder, but I did not hear anything. I sniffed the air, but I smelled nothing. Convinced that there was no one there, I turned and saw Grenouille standing there, in front of me. Startled I dropped my sack. As he slowly moved toward me, I put out my arms welcoming him. He was taken aback and stopped. He asked me if I was afraid of him and I told him that I was not. I told him however, that I knew he was afraid of me, and it was for that reason that he felt he needed to control everyone, so they would be afraid of him instead of him being afraid of them. That was not true, he angrily declared, and lunged at my throat. Instead of struggling, I turned and kissed his hands as they squeezed tighter and tighter. Then I put my arms around his body and embraced him, bringing him closer to me. I was determined to let him know, that even if it meant death, I was going to give him that unconditional love and accept him for who he was.

At that moment he let go of my neck and yelled that my scent would not serve him, I was useless to him, and he walked away.

I fell to the ground gasping for air, and passed out as the sun was going down.

I heard voices nearby and the slow deliberate shuffle of feet around me. I opened my eyes and pushed the mosquito net aside. The sun was coming up and everyone was preparing to go out into the rice fields.

Before I could pass judgement on Mao and Madame Mao, I had to learn about their power and how they used it. I had to admit that I admired the way they turned men and women into an androgynous population. I liked the fact that they dressed the same and were treated the same. But the horrors I heard about had to be put to an end.

I came to Red Fire Farm after I heard of the execution of the man who had fallen in love with Little Green. Mao was very much like the mayor, I thought, getting other people to do his dirty work.

Working in the rice fields reminded me of home. There too I would work from sun up to sun down, for people who abused my labor, and gave me very little in return. Oddly I felt homesick and decided it would be best to leave this place as soon as possible.

But there was something about Yan that intrigued me. The power that she had came solely from her dedication to Mao. Through this power she was tough and demanding, but she was also soft and understanding.

Where I was from it was very uncommon for a woman at this age to be both childless and without a husband. I admired the fact that she did not use her power to corrupt the young girls in her charge, even when the natural urges and desires surfaced. This made me admire her even more.

I would follow her around camp, watching her, learning from her, and wanting her. I couldn't help to feel that Yan admired me too. The fact that I had the strength and courage to take the life of the most powerful person in my village and live, amazed her, and she afforded me a lot of respect.

As I was getting ready to leave Red Fire Farm, I went to thank Yan for all she taught me. The sun was just coming up over the horizon when I found Yan working among the plants alone. As I approached her she smiled at me and continued working. I went over and helped her finish. Just as I was about to speak, she quickly raised her finger and put it over my mouth, gesturing me to be quiet. I could taste the salty water still wet on her finger. We just stood there staring at each other for awhile. For the first time in my life I felt the desire to be with someone. A person of my choosing. She leaned over and kissed me, then took my hand and led me to the brick factory. In the distance we could hear the young girls working in the fields as the sun burned strong overhead.

Zakeya with Shattuck

Zakeya (God Dies by the Nile) in jail for killing the Mayor, is about to go to trial. Shattuck (Forbidden Knowledge) has agreed to help her convince the jury that this was a "crime without a criminal: no guilt, no punishment". So they get together to prepare her case.

Shattuck: Zakeya, is it true what I heard about you?

A student of "The Stranger" can it be true?

Or is it Mellville that you do relate.

"Billy Bud" as you know faced a similar fate.

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: My ignorance I beg, you must forgive.

But you must help me for I want to live.

I know not of these people you speak.

Pray, tell me of what scent do we all reek?

(Only the truth will set me free)

Shattuck: For me to help you, you must understand.

Enlightenment you all did dare to demand.

And for this on dangerous ground you tread.

Like other's before you, evil was bred.

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: I tell you so much was taken from me.

And so tormented was my family.

An end to this displeasure I had to put.

Even if it put me on the wrong foot.

(Only the truth will set me free)

Shattuck: Nietzsche then, will suit your case very well.

In destruction of religion he did dwell.

"God is dead" he too would proclaim.

To follow his writings, was this then your aim?

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: "I only know that I do not know", pray.

Unconsciousness was what led me astray.

A sense of foreboding was in the air.

To seek out its clarity I had to dare.

(only the truth will set me free)

Shattuck: Your position Zakeya, I have to explain.

Mind you it may cause you a great deal of pain.

The ultimate truth, must remain a mystery.

This is the way it has been throughout history.

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: Tell me how I could continue to be.

Knowing all the while that it was he.

Mauled my nieces like a savage beast.

On their pure white flesh he chose to feast.

(Only the truth will set me free)

Shattuck: A follower of the Marquis de Sade no doubt.

Sadism was what he was all about.

Madness and desire was his claim to fame.

The mayor aspired to be just the same.

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: I'll tell about Elwau, the innocent one

Stripped naked and murdered there out in the sun.

Kawfrawi and Galal taken away to jail

Just so he could continue along without fail

(Only the truth will set me free)

Shattuck: My poor girl, do you not yet understand.

Where your place is in this holy land.

As you are well aware consciousness kills.

We can not release this power of wills.

(What is going on inside you head)

Zakeya: What are you saying, is justice denied?

You said you could help me, have you too lied.

In the fires of hell you'll let me burn.

Even though you know it is not yet my turn.

(Only the truth will set me free.)

Shattuck: Zakeya please put you faith in the center.

Its your life not his that we must enter.

(What is going on inside your head)

Zakeya: Only the truth will set me free.

Zakeya's "Black Water". In Joyce Carol Oates book Black Water, Kelly hallucinates as she slowly drowns. Here, it is Zakeya's life that is drowning her.

Here in my Hourglass World, I have lived my life at the bottom,

~The sands of time slowly burying me, each grain carrying with

~~It a memory of voices, people, smells, places, pictures, of

~~~a past that will soon suffocate me, as I try to live a li

~~~~ttle longer, patiently waiting for God to save me, pull

~~~~~me out of My Hourglass World, each Grain, another nai

~~~~~~l in my coffin, another door closed, another light

~~~~~~~put out from a world where there is no escape, e

~~~~~~~~ach grain a reminder of what is to be, another

~~~~~~~~~life gone, buried in the sands of time. My m

~~~~~~~~~~emories now burden me, laying heavily on m

~~~~~~~~~~~y soul, my life, paralyzing my legs, my

~~~~~~~~~~~~arms, my body, filling up my mouth, a

~~~~~~~~~~~~~s I try in vain to stretch my neck

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~so I can live a little longer, p

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~atiently waiting for God to sa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ve me, pull me out of my Hou

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~rglass world, gasping for

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~air I can hear the chim

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~es of the bell, calli

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ng everyone to pray

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~er, at the mosque

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I asked God to

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Save me, as

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Grains st

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~art to

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Fill

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~My

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ri

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~gh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~t

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~e

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~a

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~r

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~as

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I r

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~est my

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~weary he

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ad on memo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ries past, f

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~or comfort, the

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~re in my mothers a

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~rms nestled warmly i

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~n her bosom, I move my

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~head to suck on her brea

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~st, but tasted only sand,a

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~s the sound of the bell grow

~~~~~~~~~~~~~s fainter still, the smell of t

~~~~~~~~~~~~he field I used to sow gets stron

~~~~~~~~~~~ger, I push and pull the plow, urgi

~~~~~~~~~~ng the buffalo on, till every bone in my

~~~~~~~body ached. In the distance I could see my niec

~~~~~~es walking along the river hand in hand, they call

~~~~~out to me, warning me about the coming storm just as t

~~~~he first rain drop hits my head, drenched I made my way b

~~~back to the hut, and started shaking the water from my scarf

~~and hair, but it was only sand, I try to limit my breathing as

~to not take in any more sand just so I can live a little longer,

patiently waiting for God to save me, pull me out of my Hourglass w

orld, I watched the sun go down, its warmth still with me I made my w

ay to my place on the floor, trying hard not to breathe, I fell asleep here in my Hourglass world.

Unborn Baby's Monolgue

In Incest, Amais Nin has an abortion. Here is the unborn baby's monologue.

Awakened from my peaceful sleep,

In utter terror was my soul.

Trespassed upon my home,

Injustices fell upon me.

Can I not be spared,

For I am blameless?

Where is the mercy,

For I am without guilt.

Did no one hear my weeping,

My solemn wails of woe?

Mauled me like a savage beast,

Torn to shreds with none to spare.

When the deed was done,

Deep sorrow fell upon me.

For my life was thrown away,

My future taken from me.

All pictures from Forum Romanum Ò Dictionary of Mythology

www.geocites.com/Athens/Forum/6946/Mythology

Zakeya's Song.

With Every Grain Of Sand

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need

When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed

There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,

Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake

Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break

In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand

In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.

Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,

Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer,

The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way

To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay

I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame

And every time I pass that way I always hear my name

Then onward in my journey I come to understand

That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night

In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintery light,

In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,

In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face,

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

Bob Dylan

1981 Special Rider Music