I walk the epochs of the world unchanging
Time, that capricious puppeteer who spins me on his strings
Who makes me dance round that metaphorical maypole
Sometimes lover, sometimes mother, often servant, often slave
Trophy, trinket, property of wealthy men, mistress, wife
All for the want of a handful of organs
I rule as queen over the builders of stone triangles
I watch as moon-goddess over fearful tribes who paint their face with poison