There is a fire in the cane field; flames fanned by high winds are licking the store-houses and stables.
There is nowhere to run.
This is going to burn us all.
I can't stop feeling this way.
It is not death that I fear, but the torment that is feasting on the souls and blessings of man.
I turn my head to hide my eyes, but the sound is there to remind me.
A deafening roar and crackle; the darkness of man is here and it will not be abated.
I will exhaust myself, beating and stamping the multiplying embers.
I pray that you can mercifully sleep away the night; unfortunately, I cannot.
