They had forgotten where they were born
Was it a castle, a cottage or a stable
To be born was their own masterpiece
To feel the wind of the spring
On their nostrils and the beating of the blood
In their chest
Pick pick pick the stone cutter won't stop
Just to be alive was their own masterpiece 

Building blocks heaped stonework
Round the garden's wild flowers
There's no wall you cannot beat
There's no wall without a hole
And who cares where a man was born
Slates are alike on any roof
And the smoke mingling with the dreamy cloud
- Better brush up your knowledge -
Carries only the message
Of a dying firewood