The folly of the human spirit
was in creating this sullen world
with the persecution of merry men
and somber winds so fiercely whirl
When crimson stains the golden Earth
and poison tongues doth lash
in which isolation is moreover bliss
and fancy flights doth crash
Infants lie in cradles weeping
cradles made of man
starlight of hope grows dimmer still
as babes eyes are filled with sand
Beneath the thrush, the sheep are silent
and so, safe from iron hands
but now and again, the lone beguiled
and tears swept o'er the land
Among the hills and rolling green
a shadow there doth lay
to sieze a gleeful, unsuspecting fole
dancing through the fray
Was once the virgin, now the whore
Was once the valiant, now diseased
Was once the eater of lotus flowers
lo and woe is now uneased
