When there's no more words from my childhood,
I'll leave too.
When there's no more sounds from the bison,
I'll be silent too.
When the rivers dry and the forests burn,
There'll be nothing left but an empty void.
When my heroes are gone and their lives forgotten,
in the empty void of nothing,
I'll be waiting for the old -
blue cornflowers in my eyes
and my language in my rhymes.