For twenty days of nightfall, our people have suffered endlessly
Their bones tremble, tremble upon the graves of their sons
Where the once mighty river flowed clear and prosperous
A parasitic channel pervades, feasting on the buried
Turned to the gods, their will to appease
Pleading without avail for the sun to answer
To answer the dying valley, devoured by turmoil
Long since eclipsed by the mountains,
The village is cast into nothingness
Amassed at the temple, auto-sacrifice commences
Daughters ushered from their shelter, tearing for escape
Cast to the foot of the temple, their veins reluctant
To beckon for the light, to obey the divine
Each bled and butchered to a revolting pulp
Where tissue met neither blade nor spear
Jagged boulders served as their final burial
Littered with bones, stretching beyond light's grasp
The exiled, the widower, demanded is his presence
Enter he whose spirit shall summon the sun