The hills sulk like cats in the half-light
In the land where you walk that you take as your own,
And you ask why I pander to Mnemosyne,
And I say it's not home, and I say it's not home.
And the sun rises in the land of the dead,
And the mountains shake themselves and sing to the dawn,
And the bodies of water are raising their heads
In the land that you won, in the land that you won.
And the grey smiles and the grey hearts, they all come out
And they jeer at the sun as they march in the dust
In the searing and the blinding and the desolate heat,
In the land that I lost, in the land that I lost.
And so I go about like a madman after dark
With my head on the earth and my legs in the clouds,
And my loving-fine garments will be worn on my feet
While my face wears a shroud, and my face wears a shroud.