They put a bag in my head.
A bag pitch-black as the night.
It's not for carrying light to the croft
It's not for families to bake bread, or to eat*
They put a bag in my head.
The cloth is made of hemp and the belt is sweaty.
Now I can see more brightly than ever before
More brightly than the saber of lightning strikes.
The soles dig into the wooden deck
Indeed! The flames are not a threat when
we dance an urn over the sky
that is softly raining**
I ask: "May I?"
I ask for a permission and I get one.
The male companion who is beautiful as a picture***
offers a leathery smile.
I ask: "May I?"
The steps lead to a better place
The moment weights as much as a single hair
Now, as the sky and the firmament open.
The soles dig into the wooden deck
Indeed! The flames are not a threat when
we dance an urn over the sky
It's softly raining...
The ashes of our fathers!****