In the Land of Nod the fog rolls in
A moon slice of surgical precision
It streaks across a tortured sky
Days and weeks unfathomed cloud
Rolling in and bearing down
Crashing down and tumbling tumbling

Pinnacle of stone
Several all alone
Needles probing sea of mist
Swirl of ghost embrace and kiss
The jutting columns
Countryside
Tower islands miles wide
Solitary in the gray
Lives that toil their lives away
As overhead the airships hover

Silent running over air
No one knows what lives out there
The wheels of progress grind and spin
Crushing bones our loss their win
Breaking backs and pressing onward
The spirit of progress pushing downward