The storm brews afar in the sea We can’t run and we know it You’re worried, or so you say And look into my eyes searching for answers I am no library — I illustrate no dances That would soothe the wind god Or potions that can make you fly So we would not have to breathe The dust of our ruined house No, I have no method to save our cattle The shepherd dogs all ran away They know when to abandon a lost cause Nor is there an oracle, or a wise neighbour lady No champion from a prophesy To come and save us With art, tricks or bravery You look at me again, this time With cold understanding in your eyes There is no running The winds will take our home The water will take our cattle And in that fluidic graveyard Our bodies will lie neck deep But as long as you want to draw breath After the storm has come and gone I will laugh in the face of death And spit at the feet of the wind god.