Fear profits a man nothing
The old father wove the skeene of your life long ago
The weave was settled long ago
So you may run, fight or hide
But you will not live one minute longer
But no matter what
Your weave was settled long ago
And there is no way to cheat the fate of death
But you can sure make the b**tard work for it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem