I'm the Pariah, the Outcast, the Miscreant.
Fortune favours the brave; Misfortune favours the freak.

A pound of flesh the price I'll pay;
With broken bones I'll pave your way;
With cement of skin, blood and sweat;
I'll protect without regret.

Rolling over stones and souls;
That occupied now empty holes;
A cloud of dust consumes our gall;
And masks us from our rise and fall.

Of tyrants tales of treachery;
With this pound of flesh I see;
I am me and you are you;
The chosen of the forgotten few.

We've trained our hearts;
And drained our minds;
To feel this pain;
So fresh and blind.

The thought of help scant exists;
Nor often the thought to stand and resist;
So with this shield and sword;
A pound of flesh I gladly afford.