There’s no such thing as a lonely cloud

Wandering round here
...

king of piel, lord of ale

hear the cryer wail
...

His mind filled with his fathers’ stories of monsters in the wood

The wilful child started out to see if these tales were good
...

a poet can write about a pebble and make a page of it
he'll tell you all about the texture, and any lumps or bits
he'll tell you how it feels to touch, and smell and see and taste
but by writing much about a pebble, an hour of time he wastes
...

For too long now have we been oppressed

Our ancient languages suppressed
...