You have played a thousand trumpets
In front of my doors of Jericho,
And you haven't seen falling
My inflexible decision.
It would be like going spinning
On my own distaff
In a set of cycle like a ball
Weaving plots and chains
That will make me entrap.
The dead-end road
To which I arrived by chance
Overwhelmed my being,
Psyche and my astral body.
You have given more than seven laps
To my citadel of Jericho
And you haven’t seen fall
A sandstone of my strong will.
It would be like going turning
In the circuit of myself
In a set of cycle as a carousel
With the destination set
To the place of nowhere.
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