from heavy silence the ancestral tale
slowly emerges not in open sound
but in hard wood that pushed out of dark ground
in the hot years when work was all travail
life turned to shit and choices all seemed stale
you could buy humans at so much per pound
no honest passion in the goods they found
gods had no words but devils all were pale
this is the age when each bill is redeemed
in honest cash straight on the barrelhead
so we were told at rising of this sun
miracles now that old folks never dreamed
an end to terrors there'd be no more dread
but now it seems the whole thing was in fun
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