A timer filled with human eyes and odd slime filling slowly
A lake of blood into which a pelted fish descends
Hell’s denizens nest at its edge
Those of the air swap with those of the hedge
A gloam pledges to obscure the road to the henge
Where for hope or revenge his growing followers go, led
By dead idols, with fell graven heads
Hammers, hammers, smashing the legs
Cities falling in tempest, like tents without pegs
Each day like the last, and never the next
For holding high with pride thy head
The crueller sentence of a broker next.
Alchemisland 
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