Head On a Platter

Surviving in the wilderness, feeding on locusts
Chosen and prepared to make the role of a herald
Stimulating criticism, calling to nonconformism
I throw myself to martyrdom, never losing my mind

Envy, hate
They look at me as the hunter looks at the prey
Respect and fear
Some of them think that I am a holy man

Challenging the powers, pointing what is wrong
My freedom and integrity are pushed into background

Cold, in this cell, all alone
Righteous but trapped

Reconsidering my motives and my actions
I would do everything again, possibly more vehemently
My imprisonment is an obvious death threat
My soul wavers, but my spirit remains strong

Sensuous dance, in a sexual appeal
An enchantment becomes the tool for my demise
Steps precede the sound of a slicing blade strike
There is no despair, as I face my life’s end

Alive for a while, already without a body
I feel my head on a platter