For twenty days of nightfall, our people have suffered endlessly Their bones tremble, tremble upon the graves of their sons Where the once mighty river flowed clear and prosperous A parasitic channel pervades, feasting on the buried Turned to the gods, their will to appease Pleading without avail for the sun to answer To answer the dying valley, devoured by turmoil Long since eclipsed by the mountains, The village is cast into nothingness Amassed at the temple, auto-sacrifice commences Daughters ushered from their shelter, tearing for escape Cast to the foot of the temple, their veins reluctant To beckon for the light, to obey the divine Each bled and butchered to a revolting pulp Where tissue met neither blade nor spear Jagged boulders served as their final burial Littered with bones, stretching beyond light's grasp The exiled, the widower, demanded is his presence Enter he whose spirit shall summon the sun