Yea, O storm,

Bring forth thy martyrdom,

A testament of creation.

Spin electric flame,

To flash out, reaching

Towards us, blind and groping.

Send out wind,

With scent that remembers.

Yea, O storm,

Bring forth thy might,

And we, as that ancient Pompeii

Might be made to know.

Before our knees meet dust

Must we rise in opposition to thee?

O storm, with furious passion,

Teach us our weakness,

Sick and afflicted,

Touched by death.

Haunt our thoughts as we wait.

Yea, O storm,

Bring forth thy dark and shapeless form,

Blot out the light,

Our currency loosely spent.

Make us poor,

Workers in the weeds.

Tear from us those radiant rays.

We will plead for them again.

But how, O storm,

Can we plead for what we have not lost?

Yea, O storm,

Take and take.

Make and make.

To thy witness we gaze,

All the while the work awaits.