Summer

They despondently stare at the blistering doom As the drought in their mouths whispers coldly “too late” And the harrowing heat makes vengefulness bloom.

Retreat to the houses, lay low in your room! While the rivers run dryly with maddening hate They despondently stare at the blistering doom.

The sweeping is on, use the iron clawed broom! Relentlessly sweep, vainly scraping the slate. And the harrowing heat makes vengefulness bloom.

They've woven their shroud on reason's own loom. Through the knots and the threads of the fabric of fate They despondently stare at the blistering doom.

Lift up your eyes, face the truth in its gloom! There is nothing to save but much to berate And the harrowing heat makes vengefulness bloom.

The heat's rising high at the gluttonous tomb. Through the sand and the dust and its wide, yawning gate They despondently stare at the blistering doom. And the harrowing heat makes vengefulness bloom.