I am standing there facing these large expanses of water
The salt air and the smell of kelp fill my nose
This great losing fight is his that I turn my back
Contemplating an assembly of herring gulls
From the top of my rock, I admire the strong melodies of the wind
I die eclipse because nothing will be like the times of yesteryear
The people of the lands are in tumult, their heritage is mocked
But I did not follow their ways, their hearts were set aflame
In this little sea, where the wind itself fled
So our ships immobilized, devoid of tactics
Were year antis from the first to the last
Cut ropes, torn sails
Our afflicted men, extirpated then tortured
The old people did not little wisdom, the young shed blood
Their speeches are only vanity, simple men of blood
I am on the lookout, I wait for the traveler, here I dispatch laugh
Dismayed by their actions, my heart is filled with spite
I saw misfortune, decadence...
I seen the embrace, I see...the flight
Like the only feint
I have often made the journey to the land of tin
The idea of u200bu200bleaving warms my still uncertain heart
I leave these lands where I lived my first morning
Towards this haven where I will know the end
Suddenly the mists fade and I see the horizon
Oystercatchers seem to cry out in prayer
Written by Pierre-Alexandre Plessix for Catuvolcus © 2012-2013

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