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When the sun will sink in a sea |
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and the singing of birds will die away. |
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When the beast wails in darkness |
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and hears a sinister scream. |
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I will see familiar faces, silhouettes of the bravest tribes, |
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warriors back from the march, bringing their victims to Gods. |
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We will make lonely fires we will seat and keep the silence, |
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respecting the memory of those, |
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who we'll meet in the other world. |
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When the first stars flashed up |
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and the leader of tribes becomes another. |
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He will dance an ancient rite, a primitive dance of fate. |
