In the core of the earth
Where the lumbered folk lie
The sleepless sorrows and the humble pies
Never say goodbye
They leave the lambs with a blood red stain
The dawn of the new man could sputter a semblance of poems
They work hard and keep their pay
They work hard and mark their territory
Yellow rivers follow the shores
Often where do the sheerly brilliant trouts go
Amidst the eglantine against the flow
Into the wolves lair and their red ice
Where they have just had their fill
Along the polar lake under the Godly dome