Ever calm at the hill top of filth,
Outside at the domain of the Precious:
Caused by the sun and rain, night and day,
Gradually, it's fading into the consuming earth.
What is it good for?
It cannot stand beside ornaments,
It cannot hold water or palm wine,
Neither can it be mended anew.
He that knows how to wash his hand clean,
Will dine and wine before kings.
Only the child with an open arm:
Can be gladly lifted up.
Judas glory can't be restored,
The ears takes over when the eyes is down.
Nothing complements the head when it is cut off.
A broken calabash can't be mended.
