Haul

Hear, children of men
 Crawlers of the ponderous planet
 Let the waves sing and the winds wail
 Don't listen there are martyrs to be made
 St Paul will look after your clothes
 Go on ahead there are stones at reach
 Forget all your afflictions go on and build a pyre
 Lo, all you children of men!
 Hoist the flag of plagues
 The son of Jehovah
 was redeemed by the just men
 The curious daughter of Indra
 came to explore the stench of cabbage
 And the jovial son from Saturn sprang
 tarnished to the dusty twilight
 Fortunate to be forgotten
 Lo and behold, children of men!
 Hoist the flag of perilous plagues
 Set guards to Fingal's grotto
 You've deserved your rest
 but don't let the poet sleep
 Nurture the torture be perseverant
 All your suffering shall surely vanish
 while modesty evaporates
 Lo, you wailers and complaints!
 Puff out your chest!
 The flag of plagues stands tall
 Can the muffled prayers of the acquiescent
 still impale the stones and fires?
 Are your borrowed thoughts stuck in clay
 and your feet heavy with mire?