The hands of the gods are tied
Behind their backs when it comes
To directly intervening in our affairs
Or offering some advice if not petitioned
In the stern summer we can feel
Their gazing on our backs
Their lightening starting fires
In the spring-abandoned hills
Approaching our locked doors
One disaster so a worse
Doesn't have to happen
But still at night asleep
They soothe our feet with their hands
They cool our fevered brows
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