Oh canal, weighing heavy as the borders abridge in time. In my bed I dream of lightning for to spark this muddy brine. Spill it swiftly, make a canyon, let it soak and stain the ground. Show the bodies at the bottom for what they are: carious, hidden long in currents strong. Did he think they would never be found? They are all mine now. And I beg her: build this grave with your barren hands of gray. And the bloodstains in the sand will give you life, will give you breathe for to rise. What is good and what is true in the woods behind your home? In the rows and rows of pews and the holy light shining down. Soft faces, soft hands of our blood, the yellow cross upon the flag. I will hold it high above my head, and I'll cry for mothers of mine. Mother, stay here beside your rosary, you will not be lost to the ground, you are all mine now.