Kur

The way it was in those days,
The towns fed on the low streams,
And their folk saw the high lands

More and more as far and strange,
The dark, smudged line at the edge
Of dawn that hid beasts and gods,

Not as lands once loved by them.
Souls in the towns saw the cliffs
As the weird source of great woods,

Dreams of fear and shades, the place
To bring a bronze axe and charms,
Where you sang spells to be safe.

We looked down on your burnt towns,
Your brick dust, your clay-fired tales.
But we heard songs, and we fell.