Were I thunderbolt I’d strike you,
Deep-drown you were I water-flow,
And deeper dig your graves I would
Only were I hoe.

Were I noose I’d gladly hang you,
Steel by chance would cut ahead,
Were I silver-ball I’d chase you
Hell-for-leather dead.

Although not much to meet the eye,
Doth innerly resound my fate
I’m so much more than anythin’:
Self-erected hate.


Adapted translation after [‘Urã’] by Axel H.Lenn