While passing through the aisles of time,
One might hear the cries of death,
Sense the terror of a clime
Of evil with its poisonous breath.
One might pause to hear the groaning
From the chambers of the devil,
Listen to the victims mourning
In the furnaces of evil;
Listen to the children screaming
In the throes of quick surrender,
Visualize the tyrants, teeming,
Wrenching them from arms so tender!
In the corridors of history,
Echoes keep resounding, grim,
One might contemplate the mystery
Of Englightenment so dim!
Lingering there among the ashes,
Spirits hover in the wind,
With the blood that never washes
Deeds the years had left behind.