One day if everything stops and I should grow cold, Lay me down gently by the murmuring brook, where the proud Hornbill comes to drink, where royal Pickerels flutter love drunk before the Breeze' artful antics.
One day if everything should stop, Lay gently this tired old bones by the chattering brook where the silver birches dazzle. I'll pluck the moon for my mirror and I fancy, I shall be as blue as the blue blue sky or better still, as brown as the brown brown earth.
And so I'll say it was all for naught, this story I thought I once lived. Of how it is only borrowed time and dust I am, and dust I shall return to! But I'll have the earth to myself and this old brook who outlived me. Unchained at last. At peace, at rest!