You, who stole so many tears,
who filled so many sleepless nights,
who ignited so much sore…

You, conqueror of vast domains,
of low valleys, of sunless sunsets of war…

Don’t think it’s all song and revelry without art,
don’t belittle my fort…

We are all weak, all flesh,
fragile and bewildered… voiceless little birds without North…

Inert clay vessels,
that shatter in the face of pain and ardor…

Don’t think it’s all banner or wall without bastion,
don’t think yourself a god…

We too are resilient clay vessels,
that don’t break from their ardor…

You, conqueror of vast domains,
look at my sword held high, a display of great fervor…