The spirits of sickness and death Are tearing apart my flesh, The friends of the underworld Are scattering my bones, Those who reside In the black marquees Are piercing my brain With an iron spear, The ones with venomous tongues Are spilling my blood Over barren earth. Then the bird with iron feathers Gathers my bones And sews my flesh together With her iron claws The Bird-of-Prey-Mother feeds me With new blood And rocks my new soul In the iron cradle. And when my time will come, When my light will dusk, Mother will come to me, Spread her iron wings To carry my soul far beyond, To the lands of great shamans, To carry my spirit far away, To the land of the glorious dead. And when my time will come, When my light will dusk, Mother will come to me, Spread her iron wings To carry my soul far beyond, To the lands of great shamans, To carry my spirit far away, To the land of the glorious dead. The spirits of sickness and death Are tearing apart my flesh, The friends of the underworld Are scattering my bones, Those who reside In the black marquees Are piercing my brain With an iron spear, The ones with venomous tongues Are spilling my blood Over barren earth.