We ain't stricken by age yet we know ages than you count.
This river here for long is our bath.
There lied Hills our feet had leveled.
which song you know sing which wasn't our sound?
Which path you dare lead, which wasn't our creation?

Come you child, tell  us stories other than yesterday's.
We hold this portion of planet for our beings,
This garden of rosier dreams and petals we planted with our blood.

Come, you new stranger, tell us about here, tell us the story of our land.
Tell us all about the land of our yesterday,
When there in the world of the unknown you borne fate a hope.
When the air, our very air was without wind of your being.

Come, you child of the new age,
Tell us how without head you grown to kiss in mockery the grey hair from which you have black.