The soot upon my hands just symbolizes the ashes,
falling from the hairs of their eyes black lashes,
and although I turn towards the red of the blood,
my cheeks I find are nothing but dun.
A waterfall rushes out of the misty cliffs,
and the lakes on the bottom remain all but stiff,
and though I see the clouds of white dust,
staying on the cold ground is nothing but a must.
I hide the soot on the red moss on my knee,
and there is nothing now there to see,
but I know what was there though no one else will know,
I know what was there not so dreadfully long ago.
There's nothing to stop it now that it is gone,
there's nothing to say what could possibly go wrong,
but I know now that I have tried and failed,
and my life has continued on nothing but hail.
