Like candlesticks in a celestial palace,
I stood guard of his cascading waters.
The orphan knows me.
You dare not ask him!
I’m his friend.

The slumber of the weary wayfarer,
his makeshift hovels and battered spirits.
I think he knows me.
Please don’t ask him!
I’m his friend. Yes I am!

My fiery breath, whispers of horror.
The fire in his bosom, of course I am!
Well, you could ask the distressed;
but please, not the mother.
I’m his friend, the mother knows.

My ancestors; they dare not try,
for I dance at their expense,
I come into the market place, even they flee.
I’m their friend.
They dare not say no!

The heavy blow that sent the man reeling,
causing subtle ones to feast on him.
My fingers, red hot embers, Oh! how I soothe?
My soul crypt, their pilgrim’s welcome.
What else?… Yes! they all owe me.
The bond of friendship.

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