When empires crumble

and infection spreads

the Earth will find peace

between the bones of the dead

The songs of the weary

the sick and the meek

summon a memory

when Gods came to weep

For the conviction of sinners

and the predictions of men

crossed swords with hellfire

and took home oblivion

Whilst the wind cried mercy

all the brooks ran dry

flesh turned to ashes

and blackened the sky

and the loss was profound

to humanity’s gall

but the trees kept growing

in spite of it all

And when empires crumble

and infection spreads

the Earth will find peace

between the bones of the dead