Stricken are the looms
Taste holds the sinner
Homes conspire to threaten the sun
The heart traces its way from the womb
Tall men hold the noon hour
Feeble is the wail of the stranger
A useful lamp plays at dawn
The threats of limelight passers continue
Emergencies run tall buildings above our heads
Fountains never arise in haste
The terror of a world ill lived writes its own dirge
Lo says God, men canopy their reason
Squares push the silence
What has happened to the justice of humanity
Surfaces dwell to destroy pennance
Remains scour the sea of no return
Alas cries freedom. A dam emerges on the mountain
Sleeves have returned
The dirge is empty
Yet the word prevails
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