Horn of fate (destiny)

(Brock) Yet year on year the greedy tide Swelled from the west unsatisfied And ever with impatient fret Gnawed at the human banquet And many with madness in their eyes Stared gibbering at the white hot skies Where foul birds circled overhead Shadowing the living and the dead Southward to where the blood red sun Sickens at noon in vapours dun He stumbles with the fear-tamed herds Of savage beasts While homeless birds fly overhead