Purer yet than were the roses
That were brought to the Paladins
Servants of which no one disposes
Preparing banquets, amazing
To Kings and Queens and to Courtiers
Fifty-two slaves of destiny
Fire of the sun which is revealed
By the coldness of its sparking
These blades of gold and silver gilded
Weaves of metal and of wool
A waving banner which has morphed
Into a kitchen rag of hatred full
The deserted streets complete it
The pathways' reality
The skies blaze for that blush a bit
Countenances without destiny
Waiting for approaching time
Of the shade which casts its hand
