the public incarnate, a troubled beast;
its needy and baleful sounds make me weep.
The deadly hunt in slow but ceaseless sweep
deceivers, caught by friends it feared the least;
the pale and wantful look shook me from sleep.
No sanctuary found, where shadows creep
beneath the cross, greed is still High Priest;
its needy and baleful sounds make me weep
In precious palms a destiny of truth to keep
an hopeful face to dawn’s crawl from the east
the pale and wantful look shook me from sleep.
Hidden on dark roof tops, a tragic leap
delivered to capture, hoist on falsities.
Its needy and baleful sounds make me weep.
In pitch it fell, a numb and blinded heap,
Aswirl in chaos, and mocked by foes at feast
the pale and wantful look shook me from sleep
Its needy and baleful sounds make me weep.
