We were an overconfident card shark, carelessly casting our coins. Our faith in our fathers had failed us the fight, and the Pillager now purloins.
Weeping and wailing we went, fissured features on faces of dust, as dozens of dolls, diseased and disjointed, assaulting a swarm of disgust.
And how could we hope to have heavenly help in a battle we brought to ourselves? Surely the shrieking of soldiers assured that our sheathes should have stayed on the shelves.
Once, we were warriors coursed with conviction who carefully counted the cost. Alas, we’ve become but a burrowing badger, and lo, we’re alarmed that we’ve lost?
We’ll pick up the pieces of homes and our hearts and heavily hasten to heal, but know that we’ll never renew to the fullness or fineness of our former zeal.
When the day of our doom has departed, don’t delay till it dawns once again! For our foe will not faint before future affronts, but we’ll wait, and we’ll wonder, and win.