Weep us bitter beads,
Poison masked as briny dew
Upon stony solemnity,
Laid dour beneath the salt accrue

In the name of blind crone
Her garments soiled green
Whose title, measured and weighed
Is found obscene

With epitaph scarring unlighted hand
A courtesy eschewed forth from the lips of hypocrisy
To the ears of the craven, a symphony; she speaks, Liberty
Lets not her name die on soaked crimson sand

Not in that foreign theater of war
Danseurs stained red
Syncopated steps to heavy artillery
Amidst the backdrop of smoke and lead