Festering daylight o'er rock-strewn lawn
the sun beats down for the drums of dawn
and thine starlight be fallin' short o' mine eyes
lost in yonder windswept world o' surprise

the bread is burning under the strike of the knife
pestilence from belligerence and endless marks of might
burning fever, a distasteful hate
I am watching the world's frayed edges
as it suffers the inevitable fate

Brooding wastes lie to thine ears so befuddled
aimed for thine heart o'er the rocks it be muddled
broken words crumble ti's as the prophets said
lost is thine lands, thine grace on this stead