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In the row in the district in the city on the Isle
lives Ij Mar of no riches grey-hair beggar scent of bile
holding hands in great praise high above to the sky
with the Isle of the worthless he belongs he's denied
walking past by the thousands deaf to suffering stray the souls
hear the words speaks the beggar of poor workers what they're owed
said in earnest parched-mouth wastrel meant to be here with the fly
one last trial to be earthless nameless throngs as his guide
who will speak for whose god does this man raise his hands
none that answer given silence man of ribs fleshless bands
if a body is a glimmer touch their souls teach to glow
struck denial shining pity light evict deep shadow
save the starving whispered beggar save us all wailing horde
wisp of beggar deep in soil from this plot he is lord
fear not now not now ever poor old beggar down below
on the Isle in the city in the district in the row
Particular Words in a Specific Order 
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