The Gates of Being dissolved,
And all becomes untrue.
Oh lay on me, I'm drowning,
But you are sinking, too.
My fingers - fragile, hollow,
Unable to tore my soul -
But Monseigneur should know
What I am leaning for.
And if they're really broken,
The only splash of fire
Will renovate the token
And petrify my line.
There are so many manors,
But stongholds very few
Without a soul; you clamber -
The new Gates look on you.
Илл. - миниатюра "Вавилонская башня" из Библии герцога Бедфордского, ок. 1424 г. И ее тоже продают на некоем сайте (копию, разумеется).