Used Dreams A holocaust will come That you couldn't Have dreamed of Having no dreams… What might this storm want If the point Is just the burned rags Of dead clouds… Footsteps in a fog of blood A roll of drums as warriors march A shadow falls round gorges deep Broken cries of the half sleeping No wind… no stars… no night… The wrath of the people is dark Like the wild organ notes of a winter storm With ravaged brows, with silver arms The battle's crimson wave - a forest of stars No wind… no stars… no night…