My own country my countrymen the exchanges
Yes this is the place
The flag of the blank wall the birds of money
Prisoners in the watch towers
And the motto
The hopes of others our
Guardians
Even here
Spring passes looking for the cradles
The beating on the bars of the cages
Is caught and parcelled out to the bells
It is twelve the prisoners’ own hour
The mouse bones in the plaster
Prepare for the resurrection