Down the stairs, truth be told,
In grains of sand, each truth I hold,
The winds of change blowing through,
Where I stand a desert grew.

Long ago, a secret past,
In this cellar, the die was cast,
For trade in skin, bought and sold,
When all used up, left to the cold.

During the times of Jesus Christ,
The pagan north made sacrifice,
Long before the Romans tread,
Countless times, my floor, blood red.

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