A million mushrooms fill the field
Where marchers' bodies lately fell
For marchers marching, heavy heeled
Release more spores to march as well.
Across the twilit shadow ground
And over long bewildered farms
Through palaces, where not a sound
Is heard though there should be alarms.

But winter comes and only ice
Is crushed beneath the marching feet
In all the land where once was right(? possibly rice)
There now is nothing fit to eat...

(dramatic pause)

Except mushrooms! which nourish not,
The body, nourish not the mind
And often poison. Eating rot
The marchers march insane and blind.