​

 

Left was the ash on the ground, Trees now barren,

No more leaves around

As the red passion has slacken.

He promised to paint this town, For this time he kept that promise. Paint the town he did,

With the ashes of the fallen.

 

If she could be drowned

His Aphrodite, name him Adonis.

He shall see this town suffer,

Until next spring when the spring returns.