A lot of land burned down before, in a hard summer of fire
We were powerless in the year of fire, and very little was left unburnt
We tilled, we dug
We found a maggot of death
We tilled, we dug
We found a maggot of death
We put it in the soil, its ancestorless face wrapped in linen
The unbound wrapping rose once a summer night
We tilled, we dug
We found a maggot of death
We tilled, we dug
We found a maggot of death