By ink and intent, we fracture the fiction,
blood into paper, name into system.
There are pyramids to make, debts to unchain,
a prison planet to escape, iron bars of the mind to break.

The rise of the talking emerald ape—
beast crowned in wisdom, oracle or charlatan?
Gold spun from mud, a throne built from breath,
we move unseen, yet we write the world’s death.

No chains but belief, no law but the pen,
no judge but the weight of what’s written within.
The strawman breathes where the sovereign stands—
but we sign no oaths with invisible hands.