out from the haze
of the blotted sun,
our transgressors
anointed in acids,
lay waste to
all our lands
our blood running
cold and thin
in the raining fires
death comes from above

descending in obdurate
hordes, the chill of
the dawning greets us
with hopes of death
and their blades
warm with blood,
their eyes hollow
with greed

seek refuge from the
vile swarms in
those ivory towers
built tall from
the friable bones
of our dead
on these,
the raptures
of our harrowed,
mournful days