The Lament
come to the land of the stabbed hills
see the beds of thirsty rivers
those who never meet the sea
not everything that's gold, shimmers
look how they planted the white tall steel
with pointy wings and electric noises
stained by the blood of birds
since the trees have lost their voices
surpass your weeping song
embalming hands of you demented
the fireflies that feed your soul
of all the regions now forgotten