And glittering sand

The oceans have ravaged

And strangled the land

Waste fills the temples,

Dead daughters are born

The presses are empty

The editors torn



Whose husband was the first to fall?

Who died the worst death of them all?

How many splinters in each separate band?

How many stations in the final hand?



Now gather up sea shells,

And write down brave words

Your prayers are unanswered,

Your idols absurd

The seaweed and the cobweb,

Have rotted your sword

Your barricades broken,

Your enemies lord.