I did not languish on sweet apple fruit on my Alba? Twas not the taste of exoneration bitter sweet? My mouth parched from missing the moisture of friends, Nor did I land as Idomeneo singing a triumphant song, There are no Trojan prisoners to glorify in chains, I sailed slowly through the bay of safe harbour to be embraced for my vision, and their lack thereof, Will I see the empty beach that I filled once upon? Do I feel the glory of the loyal warriors loving me? Oh wonder, who is still hiding inside the straw horse? Shall I forgive those who sharpened their knifes? Should I not welcome their songs and praise? Does it matter that they know not what they do? In the eyes of Truth I will see who wears my robe, In palms of dry hands I will feel warmth once again from those who wielded their opinions on me, those who washed their hands in my blood to save the stains on Teflon armoured vests! On safe return to the mainland of busy bees the virus still exists under the skin of the beast.