The flames rose high from the earth,
their crowns singed the clouds;
the sky was scorched and blackened.
As for the birds, let us not speak of them.
No dream left, to preserve memories.
A drop fell from the sun into her eye,
burning.
White light leapt, turned into a poison stream.
Morning broke open.
Into the body of Day, the breath of Night;
into the body of Night, the breath of Day.
And so Time was born.
Waterness in the Arid Land heaves and quickens.