When world were young, and gods they spun
The cycles into place,
There were but one who ‘marked upon
With frown upon her face:
Should tides turn rough and strong enough,
T’would grind the stone back round…
And moon would come in place o’ sun,
And up be going down.
Like in the baking sunshine,
Salt crystals on the deck…
What might be just the gems of fools
May also break yer neck.
So watch out for the bigger birds,
‘Cause for the corpse they come.
The feathers bright into the night,
But black against the sun…