Far from here, a house forsaken on lands of yesterday
The silence of the night has crept in
As weeping of the women, as thoughts of solitude
As sadness and as grief

In a dim deserted room a token left on the table
A talisman, a hairbrush from his father
Oozing from the shaft a stream of bitter sap
Dripping scarlet flow, so slow

They know it to be an emblem of death
A sign of destruction
They recognize the end of a friend
The agony of a man and son
They look at brush, remember the black hair
They weep the bitter sap

Oozing from the shaft a stream of bitter sap
Dripping scarlet flow, so slow
Bristles weeping wet, into a pool of red
Dripping scarlet flow, so slow