The Nehalem runs through a discordant land
Curling, threading through mountains,
The place forsakes and is forsaken
Lush aura and scent belie dystonic power under root
A man may toil here but to one purpose and for one result
The sight of a trestle can only be an illusion
Minds and ambitions rupture with no measurable impedance
The road is muddied with ash and organic elements
Flood water washes away nothing,
Bacteria flourishes among the detritus
Relics' holy presence declared,
Solutions through acacian means for one result
The liar synthesist prophesied his death
And left a sign among the waste

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