The fire **** furnace yellow bright shine-
of morning burns up the sky-
a tribe lives there in the cloudy grey
warlike brandishing the Sun
Moving at a pace to outflank and surround
all the sleepy hamlets yet to wake
she sets alight the dull dark earth dreams
men like to dream come true
While surreal spectacle of kindred all-
ancestors and those yet to come alive
are bound and dragged behind her parade