I worship the cold, the ground, the stone. A man who will worship must worship alone
Cold and hard but it means no ill will. The dampening air perfectly still
A thrill of pain sharpens the mind, keeping it level and less than kind
But better man than these am I; tooth for tooth, and eye for eye
Once more to the mush, the river, the wind. once more to expose the weakness of man
Blindly we buzz—the mind of the hive, and always a spur dug into our side
Until now no rest, no retreat nor reprieve; forever the cold, forever, for me.