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There are those for whom terror is the best god

Past invoked from the sacrificial pit of the present

The false foundations of palsied certainties

Firing at dials to stop the day

Look how your earth is withering

Worn out like a garment

What was foreseen long ago now cannot be believed

Long-haired Apollo emerges from the cask of Seleucia

The altar of victory is hidden away

The newborn ground gives way to death

The vine fails

The olive tree cheats us

The burning field withers

Our bones are dry,

Our hope is drained,

We are cut off