In Cruel Fire Rome

What cruel fire, what land forlorn
Will raise its plaint in time?
What black spring blooms
In your eyes?
Whose blood will taint
This land of mine?
And he who makes bread
Ought to eat
And he who fights ought to rest
And though it is truth we seek
It just won't do to serve
With the best

Now make your pact with time
And the worlds you are stealing
For you will only find me
In what I'm leaving
And we'll all be drowned
Just wait and see
In the hollow sound
Of marching feet

And the blood bleeds black
The blood runs red
You made all that is yours
But they are here to offend
Your housings
Your silent tents
And to teach all eyes to close