The houses of the gods are stone
the palaces of the dignitaries are stone
the apartments of the priests are stone
the abodes of the Warriors are stone
the hearts of the masters are stone.
Our huts are made of straw,
everything we own is being
We are men of straw, of corn straw.
They can become ash in just an instant
We are scum,
We only possess souls of stone.
Fire from the gods and demigods
You dominate this land and its creatures
remains perennially awake
to dazzle us and infuse us with fear.
We are made ash, slag no name:
We are what the masters want us.
But we live with a hidden comfort
and we have treasures that even the gods ignore:
the souls hard as basalt.