We piled the leaves
before we set off again
He so loved Florence
The woods surround sand
Like the river does the trees
God's fearful judgment
Pay heed to my words
You, reading of punishments
For I saw terror
I saw herds of souls
Pinned down, in stress positions,
Wandering the sands
A rain of fire
Sparks the desert, violent
Snowfall in winter
Those wandering brush
To and fro against the flames
It is of no use
We see one stretched out
He curses God, his rage burns
Virgil, who is he?
He shouts back at us
"As I was alive, now dead!"
He was once a king.
Oh Capanaeus
You cursed God until you died
And you curse Him still.
We walk the border
Between the sand and the woods
A small red creek flows
Out of the forrest
Like a skid-row gutter stream
The colour of dread
Virgil tells me it's
Unlike anything I've seen
And I ask him how?
"In the wastes of Crete
Stands a mountain with no trees
A god's safe cradle
The mountain has caves
In a cave a statue cries
His tears form Hell's streams
His face set to Rome
He's Gold, Silver, Bronze, Iron,
His right foot is Clay.
Cracked from the neck down
His tears are for all mankind
They form rivers here."
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