It was as though we were cast in stone.
The weary ones knelt at the shore.
A fitting end to the journey,
Yet our souls still danced on the old, iron roads.
For it was the weak among us
Who gazed at Medusa—
Suckling on the ****** of her dread—
Fearing within their cold hearts
A cold, metallic fate:
To be left in stone on the old, iron roads.