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