I'll be old soon; all my summers spent inside will mark my hands with shadows and rivers
My old winters will grow through my eyes, and I will cry, rusting my two planets

I will also cry
It will also cry
It will also cry on
My lips

Those red mountains screamed everything I had to say at two years old and then nothing
Two years old and then, nothing ?

I look at my field; never did it grow a battle
Cold will come soon; let courage be my mantle
We will rise and carry our own banners

The worst is done
The voices trapped beneath my tongue will call and shout the names of those who cry

I will also cry
I will also cry
I will also cry on my lips
Two years more and I'd be haunted
I look at my field—at last, it will grow a battle