And I fain would go back to my long-loved lands never again to roam. For your world is young, and its voices grate on ears unused to noise, And its favorite game is defying fate, and it kneels to its toys. Part of the chorus of the internal dialogue. The mountain looms above the plain Like stormclouds over driving rain And oft the warbirds circle down, To harry the ruins of the town That stood on the plain an age ago, When the world was young, and men still dreamed. The topless towers are fallen now, And all is grey and dusty wrack.
Pale weeds grow tall on the ancient track That leads from the town to the mountaintop.
A simple little choice to make Between the birthing and the wake. Cast your lot with him or him, Dig your grave, put one foot in. He's the one that calls the dance. It's folly, boy, to be yourself, Just a poppet on the shelf. See his holy form ablaze Telling all to bid him praise, Uttering the sacred words Verse by verse unto his herds.