The Bogman Curses the Darkness

I sleep in my little rag palace,
don't trouble me with your tales
of glory and solemn grace.

I tell you I do not know you
who call me in the night
say say brother where is your lamp.

When I was hungry
you gave me stones to eat.
When I was naked
you flayed my hide.
When I was sick
you bled me dry.
When I was dying
you gave me your word.

In your wicked mummery
you stomp and shake the ground
you bend rivers, scatter the birds
you sow salt in the fertile soil
and tell me it's just this sort
of magic that's needed
to keep the light
from scorching my poor failing eyes.