Written by: George Zamalea

Let the sun blinds the blind man
And carriages with the wind
The hidden path, the unholy rises
While that Eagle is wandering by.

Let the moon while I scope
To watch the mourning birds create
The pounding on the fall stone
The weight I dance.

Let the plum buffalo comes to me
In dream, in smoke, in stars and rain, I don't care
As a great man to be and said: 

	"Welcome, my skinny bone, 
And show me where is the way I shall dehorn.
Because I don't want leave any trace behind!