Shelves of books For your intellect Piles of clothes For your dignity The knowledge is worthless The linen is stained Starved for weeks in squalor and filth None of your tongues matter now I (I) am (am) traced in the sun He (he) lives (lives) through his first-born son Feeding (feeding) from (from) an abscess in the wall Lungs (lungs) filling (filling), corroding the frame Drowning in fire and spires of blood Fighting for a last breath of the grey air Wading the grief leaving a wake One last portrait of my stained face Shelves of books For your intellect Heaps of clothes For your dignity I want to watch it go down in flames It's long overdue 30 long years I waited For it to smoulder And the last trace of warmth will leave the soil And you took the sun with you when you left