I am wedded to this shore By rings of woe.
Free men rock the sun upon their knees.
Across desolate streets women drag their flesh cupping candlesticks that touch the stars. Her lips press like mendicants against the grille. Farewell my sons trudging like hunchbacks in the Siberian night. Farewell my sons in the stillness of a Goya moon. In this whirlwind the locomotives crow laden with contraband souls.