I'm traveling through Canaan, through Jordan, through Lebanon-
The dust stings my eyes, clouds the senses.
This is ash. This is ancient.
The cinders of civilization lost.
I feel no connection, no verdant growth, no vibrance...
...but the whisper of a memory I never had.
Dark, secret eyes and foreign knowledge haunts me
here in this quietude where life begins but death has claimed.
Oh, fertile cradle
Oh, Mother- in trust and in ruin.
The junction of the holy and the sacred and the desperate and the vile.
We do not know (how could we?) the honesty of origin.
We will kill our brothers-
-and we will kill ourselves.
Is that the magic then?
And we have become Cane.