When all our niggling conflicts are past This land will lie a sullen death Life will stutter on with its broken mast Parched lives will pine for moist breath. The wild winds will be presently hushed Grey souls will tremble with servile dread Even in the stillness, amity will burst Gnarled hands will scream for moulded bread. Animosity will range on far and wide Bloody waves will batter bodies through— This earth will become Satan’s bride Tears of blood will stain this land anew.