This night fate had been decided in the moonlight
As the bread winner had answered to the doomed call-
The compulsory striker had kicked to his goal post.
This sure-bet would never miss the net.
Ere his 'lift-off', our old man had whispered
Love words, and sang spiritual songs to our souls.
Not knowing that this full moonlight night trace will gulp his gullet
And he will never babel any more on this land he keep.
Home couldn't do anything but to wonder about
And soak the floor with our tears.
What an unbelievable seizure of the soul!
Do this means our man had parted this world
And we would see him no more until the final world?
This moon mustn't go in
Before his body 's laid (down)to rest
As his faith demanded.
Should this be a bright moonlight night to spare?
***sure-bet, compulsory striker- death
***our man, old man- Elder