What deed is there to do
As the sky changes hue;
Upon the searing sands
Within freedom's hands.
The vows have flown far away
And men are left to convey
As a rock does stand upon these dunes
And old men play dancing tunes.
Entwining rooted words so deep
Unable to see just how steep
The world has left for ruin
With no idea of what they're doin'.
Leave it to the drums and flutes
To cease all quarreled disputes.
Sight may conceive defeat
While we know it is not complete;
For danger's days are from from over
There is no such four-leaf clover.
Such mockery, such hate
No one to quell this fate.
Donning days of Dawn"s retreat
As though the flowers smelled so sweet.