A thin edge,
The slackers-turned-leaders, painstakingly chosen by the tribe,
A rugged shore, proudly etched by craggy fiords by the swampy waters.
Some of our ancestors believed in the rashly spewed clump of the answers
To the unfinished question, not formulated properly, and untimely.
The dark expanse,
From the north even farther north our ancestors spread,
Grated their teeth on flint to make sparks,
Settled and intertwined with each other so closely,
That their beards set roots to the ground in a semi-circle.
The copper toll was collected by the forest overlord from the scattered swampy shacks.
It was enough of the faded icons of the distrustful idols,
Brooms and stupas that got amassed in those dark times.
A dark night is not warm and colourful like the one in the south,
The palings stretch far away along the trails,
And a cart drives by itself to somewhere,
And it goes such a long way, and creaks,
And probably will creak forever.
Until the gamekeeper who has the right to carry a gun,
One day will prohibit you,
With all your older than chunks of fog
Tendencies to self-deception,
To make fires
In the womb of the prehistoric forest,
Violating interests of the capricious and jealous dinosaurs.
Until the gamekeeper who has the right to carry a gun,
One day will prohibit you,
With all your older than chunks of fog
Tendencies to self-deception,
To make fires
In the womb of the prehistoric forest,
Violating interests of the capricious and jealous dinosaurs.
So now it looks that you are a close relative to the ants,
Amidst moss and roots,
Several centuries will pass like a few days,
Several centuries will pass like a few days.
So now it looks that you are a close relative to the ants,
Amidst moss and roots,
Several centuries will pass like a few days,
Several centuries will pass like a few days.
Beware!
Let no one notice that you can do anything.
Let no one notice that you can do anything at all.