Her captors did not hesitate
To desecrate and mutilate
Her consercrated cavern.

Now it lies,
Rent as the tomb of Christ,
And crying out
With Abel's voice.

The less taken path
Is her open grave,
The dry bush is her wreath.

The marching ants
May pay her homage
With bits of cockroach legs.

The crickets sing a requiem mass,
The spiders weave her shroud,
The blinded earthworms silently
Declare a solemn feast.

Crippity, crippity,
Slippery slomp,
The earthworms make
A solemn feast.