Oh why is the mortal here which is so proud?
My swift meteor
rests on a cloud.
Lighting I see is like a wave of light.
The king’s hand will carry a sceptre until his death.
The brow of the Priest will have the sweat worn on it.
If you look into the longingly eyes of the sage
you will see bravery.
When death arrives you will be lost in your grave.
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