Gloat,
mine enemies, gloat,
For I have
been brought low,
Rendered
weak and defenseless,
Not by
your own righteousness
But by the
fruit of my own hands,
But just
as the sun rises again
After
darkness has fallen,
So too shall I
soar like the eagle
And run
fleet-footed like the gazelle
As I once
did in the old days
When the
gods looked down on me
And were
pleased
With what
their hands had made.