Like ants, like ants with frantic legs we run. Running, not in lines No. No, in all directions! Scurrying-- no orders, Not a voice from up above. The Queen is dead, The Queen is dead-- A dead and broken dove.
Where is our God now? (Is he counting souls in heaven?) Where is your God now? (Was he left on barren Earth?)
Like Jericho's great façade, torn down by seven sirens, We scurry like the smallest ants with spines like that of serpents; We crawled and shrieked and cowered. We left the young and sick. Although we prayed immortal life, we now beg our end be quick.
Like ants in a sea of elephants, From dust to dust, and dust to ****.