And the fountain has run dry
Too distant is the sky.
Weep in sackcloth and ashes
Bend your neck to forty lashes
Knowing none can hear you cry.
And the well is filled with dust
The heart is clogged with rust.
Blood in veins flows no more
And the soul is parched and sore
And none to watch you die.
And God's plenteous horn
Lost to eyes gouged and torn.
We drink of the poisoned source
And wonder, not feeling remorse.
In our graves we long to lie
Knowing how empty is...
...the human sigh.
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