When a gibbous moon is low
When black robed men go
Torches aglow they abscond brick road Shafts of sun their torches throw
Even Pharaoh does not know
Obscure rites enacted
Puzzling Names from Time redacted
Hues which mortal iris fears refracted
Through a glass pendulum, roles are acted
Dead men are seen to talk and stir but by night’s end are back dead
Where others dare not go
Alone the last black rhino
Steed of a half hanged albino
Africa rises when the ice and snow
All the old kingdoms reduces, and lo
Forth from that rite the initiates go
Lacking glow, burdened by what they know
Alchemisland 
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