Loser, The Lonely

Sand in my boots
I tramp beneath
The Eye of RA

All my Cleopatra's,
Behind, in palaces of
Gold and ebony, limp wrists
Still, in baskets of asps

The generals, they hunt me
For my love and failed rebellion.
My sword has
Wed the desert, so,

Sand in these boots,
With bent, battered breastplate,
Will-less I walk 'till some
Body or beast brings me down.