An ashen field falls over the horizon,
Spotted by cloves — pink and white,
Spotted by martyr cries and feckless rites;
Cathedrals, now but wooden ribs in the desolate night.
Cometh by haste the bounty men —
Heads of natives swing from hips,
Gold and toil lost to their smite;
The joining flesh of humanity rips.
The dawn, now new,
Left only heathen land.
God shackled to Heaven’s gate,
Man now to serve the capital hand.
Jul 2, 2025
Jul 2, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
An ashen field falls over the horizon,
Spotted by cloves — pink and white,
Spotted by martyr cries and feckless rites;
Cathedrals, now but wooden ribs in the desolate night.
Cometh by haste the bounty men —
Heads of natives swing from hips,
Gold and toil lost to their smite;
The joining flesh of humanity rips.
The dawn, now new,
Left only heathen land.
God shackled to Heaven’s gate,
Man now to serve the capital hand.
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