The Gods have abandoned us, They've left us like migrating birds. Now we reach in vain to grip their words And ditch what we deserve. So we dig up little balls of clay And fashion them the smoothest way. I've learned to make my script so deep And true to what they say. I've been given thoughts to hold and to believe, To make ourselves as pure as gold and light as leaves, But the sands that come are cold and broad as seas, And they'll bury all we know. Into the Underworld I'll march and steady go, And cross my family and others that I know, But with the poorest stitch and still the barest toe, I must not greet them, instead pretend not to see them. I must transcend all time and space, Blind as how I am to find a soul by face, And again, two more to take our place, Eternally, below.