Ancestors.
Ha-urr.
My hands reach to the night sky,
Pleading.
Torn apart.
I want to feel my mother's soothing tongue,
Gently carressing my cheek.
I want to see the snow fall,
And not think of blood.
Ha-urr.

You called them ancestors,
The vain, the brittle eyes above.
You called them the eyes of the ancestors,
You'd watch me with them, from above.

Wipe your tears, my littling.
The past is past.

NO! Be`ku, mra!
My tears betray me like stars
Diamonds in my fur.
I prefer now, when none watch from above!
When only the punishing sun beats me down!
When only daylight is mine!

You said everything is more beautiful with the night, mra.
You were wrong.
Ha-urr.