Blessed boney branches of the brittle trees, Bestowed are they, the weak and mighty, The strengths of Atlas against seasons of tragedy, To the sea in the sky, above the atmosphere of glass That holds in place the war of greed, A war that since has passed, yet persists the bolting trident, From the depths of the Atlantic sea, Pierced the cursive waves, beyond the sky And beyond the glass held By the brittle trees Still the waves of light, rush from Mount Olympus, Fogged from the skies foam, struck the secluded dome That was the domain of Atlantis In retaliation, a trident of forking waters Raked the formidable mountain, and left A great scar from its summit, to the lowest pit