The Falling Age - Julia Holter

A rock there is where, as they say, the ocean dew distills

And from its beetling brow, there pours a copious stream

For pitchers to be dipped therein

'Twas here I had a friend washing robes of purple in the trickling stream

And she was laying them out to dry on the face of a warm and sunny rock

From her I heard the tidings

See, here the wretched sufferer comes

His youthful flesh and golden hair

Have lost their beauty

Oh, what pain!

What double grief has fallen on these halls

And swooped on them

From heaven