And you beautiful child, my sweet child,
Tell me, what do you want me to sing to you?
Sing me the series of numbers,
Until I learn it today.
Unique it is death,
nothing else, nothing more...
two oxen tied to the cart,
and there are three parts of the world,
four Merlin's stones,
who sharpen the swords of heroes.
Death is unique,
nothing else, nothing more...
And on the path that time takes
five so far there are ages,
and there are six herbs that
in the cauldron the dwarf will mix...
Seven are the suns, seven are the moons,
eight are the fires lit in May ,
Around the fountain there are nine
the girls dancing to the moon...
Death is unique,
nothing else, nothing more...
And ten vessels have come
bringing war to us from afar.
Eleven warriors have returned
when there were three hundred who left...
The only one is death,
nothing else, nothing more...
And on the path that time takes
there are five ages so far,
and there are twelve months that
day by day, forever< br/>signing goes.
And twelve more are the signs
that you can read in the sky,
they have declared war among themselves,
this that I sing to you will be the end.
The only one is death,
nothing else, nothing more...
Then the trumpet will sound,
we will have fire and thunder, rain and wind,
the series of numbers is over,
for the one you know that there is no series:
Death is one,
and the oxen are two,
and the parts are three ,
four are the stones,
five are the ages,
and six are the herbs,
seven are the suns,
seven are the moons,
eight are the fires
And nine the maidens,
But ten the vessels,
Eleven the warriors,
Twelve the signs,
Twelve the months
And one death,
Always the mother of pain.

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