Drowsed by rain, wetter than the ocean
Plain to see to the mighty eye
Past the present, burning in delighted tune
Faces, all of which are mine!
So shine they shall, hovering over the clouds
Away from the dust and dirt of life
Only to be weathered; turned to soil, the rocks
Before the shire turns green in the rusted knife!
So grow they shall, away from the sun
To be burned or be buried alive
Only half of a lie, gazing down to the grass
Half awake, but ready to hide!
A dark night, cold, damp and forever in strive
In the mind at days and haunting by the end of the light
Precious, damned to be a wood, immobile
Only the hunters gather their kill, and hungrily eat them alive!