In a cave, there sat an Idol
Borne of gold, in sacred temple.
Not the mother, nor the seer,
But Idol none the less could hear.

He held the dreams of riches laden,
Gorged the blood of fairest maiden.
Whispered prayers of peasants plight,
Gave the Idol curse of sight.

Then the Idol, long forgotten,
Locked within the cursed mountain,
Lived his life in solace such
Knew not to feel the human touch.

The Idol there was melted down
For golden riches men sought now,
And all the deaths in people's scheming,
All the hopes in maiden's dreaming,
All the prayers in husband's seeming,
In the sizzling, bubbling, steaming...

...was their screaming.
 

~Jan Brian Vis