On this lonely island, the food is deer
our problems is even enough for us to bear
How can we dissect peoples smiles
even When they hug you from miles
sometimes in the early morning wake
when the lands and mountains bake
You have to look into the solidarity of friends
for they might be shaky support of foes
We come alone
in our death, we are going alone
In the struggle for the deer
with horns reaching to the rear
He who wants the legs go for it
He who wants the head aim for it
But some wants the whole, to eat
to keep and to waste
Such is the lonely island.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem