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 the brush   Remember the black hair   They weep a bitter sap      Oozing from the shaft   A stream of bitter sap   Dripping scarlet flow, so slow   Bristles weeping wet   To a pool of red