His eyes are alive with desire
Embers of brown smouldering coal
A hunger for the flames of the pyre
Upon which funerals are borne

His smile is a grimace
A shallow grunt of pain
His heart the only witness
To the bile that runs in his veins

His words are twisted demons
Who speak no civilized tongue
His oath the words of heathens
Who hail disasters yet to come

Their foreign gods are calling
Silent cries demanding blood
Echoes of the winter morning
Sounds of a spring time flood