The fourth man, bearded and with a singularly immobile face Which gazed us from behind with night black burning eyes Enveloped in robes and with a weird metallic voice He spoke behind the mask of clay See, behind the mask I’m Zkouba Inside the snake’s den, there’s a hidden port I used the silver key then I travelled way beyond Through eons and ages which for long have been forgotten Those who dare to see way beyond the veil Have to accept commerce with the almighty Umr At-Tawil Ancient guard of the gate The one prolonged with life as guide Beneath the walls of rock, I shape and skip my form In horror! I researched and tried to find some way back But my hands are too different to the ones of human kind Incapable of escaping this unfaithful conclusion I’m trapped in the abominating form of this foul being