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