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.

It was the weak among us
Who gazed at Medusa—
Suckling on the serpents of her head—
Fearing within our iron hearts
A cold and meandering dread:
To be left in stone on the old, iron roads.