a very old spirit must come and we will call him a new name for if old god came 'round we wouldn't recognize his voice; like men forget hell and thirst for war; just like war, we'll forget: he comes from within the meek swallowed and scattered, pyrrhic madmen soaked and somber'd, shaman repairing rattles with new stories inside; on grapes sworn from lips and husbandsmen with beards drawn long once more, that devil in us will have had his due we'll name the age something external a 'movement' led by a single madman; any name but our own