I made a song in praise of life, a world as bright as quetzal feather: to skies of turquoise, sunlight gold, to streams like jadestone, gardens blooming … But gold can melt and jadestone shatter, leaves turn brown and trees fall down, our flowers fade, their petals scatter. The sun sets soon, the night comes looming. See beauty fade, our loves grow cold, the gods desert, their temples weather … Why does my song pierce like a knife?
