The Martyr

The garden has grown into a jungle
And the flowers all dripping with blood-
And you have been turned into an animal
How muscular you are when you run-

Rotten fruit hangs from wooden limbs
The moistened bark peels from the trees-
And the clouds look like sails of ships
Men have come to us from the seas-

Your awful teeth cut at their armor
Here we sleep beside the ferns-
We chant your name, Sarah the martyr
With golden eyes these men will burn-

We are covered in the thickest of mud
Sarah, these flowers are soaked in your blood