The Watcher Speaks to the Eye-Beam
Why do you stand out, bright one, against Doom?
We are the last of Ends, devouring all.
The mortals you guard are sunk in gloom;
You cannot even move to heed their call.
What hope has then your feeble glow
To break our final power, our iron might?
You cannot end our Eating; you only slow.
What drives you on in hopeless fight?