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When the harvest ended
the citadels burned down
and in the dust I painted
the sickle in red clay
drumbeat echoes
across the skyline
traced in the starlight
the diamond in green clay

Others give their wealth
as if you hadn't more
Others give their blood
I give you soil
when the temple's fallen down
and faith has left to die
and when to dust we shall return
I give you the soil

Taken by the water
locked in my reflection
in my hand I cradle
the chalice in white clay
fiery eyes observe
piercing cloud and armor
in their light I trace
the fountain in black clay

every facet of the crystal
a fractal of my conscience
whisper old familiar lines
one folk, one folk-lore, one of them!

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