In the sands there was a singing, 
A song of tortured wonder,
With a hunger that was stinging
In the land of little thunder.
  
 The dunes they were infecund
 Though tilled by unseen farmer;
 Yet still the Quarter beckoned
 “Come to me,” said biting charmer.
  
 In Eden barely distant,
 Jinn whispered lies so stirring:
 “Take up the great resistance
 It is death that you are spurring.”
  
 First Man called Wisdom brother
 As he gorged on fruit verboten, 
 But he tore the world asunder
 With the pact that he had broken.

 Onward grim ascendants! 
 To the land of little water
 To a hunger that’s transcendent 
 And the savagery of slaughter.
  
 There you’ll find your master
 In the slither of the seif
 When the moon is alabaster
 And your will is but a waif. 
  
 The groaning sand fraternal
 With an aching that is pressing,
 Due death to which we’re servile
 At the hand of man’s transgressing.
  
 Sing the song of slakeless torment
 At the blight of desert dawning
 Sing the song as Adam wrote it: 
 Song of Eden Longing.