I walk among you, breathing clay,
Everything I touch is smeared with red earth,
You who created me will not easily forget the day
Your computations and your magic gave me birth.
I shall fashion my earthen generations
After my own kind, we will conquer your vanity,
Transform you for your longed-for dispensation
Of harmony and bliss. But know this: the joy
Of paradise will demand your soul for the new sanity:
Whom we would make sane, we must first destroy.
EN 
MK