Who Weeps?

Who weeps for the Czar they slew?

For the ships they burned?

Who, smiling with mad-dog treachery.

offers up the torch, still hot,

the stiletto, still red,

and a promise of a glimpse of the Sampo

 through burning-coal eyes shining from empty skulls?

Who savors those tears that cannot moisten the dry husk?

Who weighs the value of a nameless bliss 

that can be neither possessed nor refused?

Who weeps at the fresh mound of their own grave?

-Kaishin