---

The spirits of sickness and death

Are tearing apart my flesh,

The fiends of the underworld

Are scattering my bones,

Those who reside in the black marquees

Are piercing my brain with an iron spear,

The ones with venomous tongues

Are spilling my blood over barren earth.

Then the bird with iron feathers gathers my bones

And sews my flesh together with her iron claws,

The Bird-of-Prey-Mother feeds me with my new blood

And rocks my new soul in the iron cradle.

And when my time will come,

And when my light will dusk,

The Mother will come to me

And spread her iron wings,

To carry my soul far beyond

To the lands of great shamans,

To carry my spirit far away

To the lands of the glorious dead.