One day thou shall return, prisoner sans walls,
To lie awake at night, dripping, hollow’d, spent.
The fly-lord hath raiseth the scepter; he calls
for thee, erstwhile blood of pinings rent.

Thou will not lull or soothe thy weary flesh;
Noone dare stay time’s flow in yer favour.
Father. Master. God wielding yron mesh
will past regret ensnare thy soul with fervour.