The breaking of a stolen sun, Which withers under light undone: Thine eyes glare upon my poor heart, A final flare to rend apart. Yet the priest is left unguided, So thy wrath has not subsided, But armies have not marched to war, Weakness grips them, and nothing more. What is to come has come to pass, Unknown horrors revealed at last. The dead earth is met with silence, For what is left lacks thy guidance. Thus we meet our final hours, And pick clean the fields of flowers. Wh