Pollock and The Porrohman

What passing bells for those who die
Then holy men through trial
What candles may be held to speed them high

Like hurricanes from up above
Leave mothers mourning sons
And the winter came from flaming winds of fire

How wonderful the world is anyway

In wiser days, the flowers bloomed
Like lovers kept in tombs
Beneath the sand, the serpent's smile returns

But come the time, the dead shall rise
And walk into the sea
On noble steeds, the kings of men break line

How wonderful the world is anyway

The desert burns and clouds are black
The ocean floods the land
Like drunken silence waiting in the wings

Now he wanders thirteen valleys crying out