The woman with her braids Through the sickly wood with her dog Hands torn to shreds Alas! No breath to be drawn long
To her knees she'd stumbled, Alas! Her flesh caught among the twisted thorn It was from this spleen That the Teuton was born
Through the tears and through the pain The pup pulled her from the vine In absence of time She slumbered in solitude, her pup remained at her side
When the woman awoke, she was before a lake of cinder And ashes that never were Into the cinder Fell a drop of blood from her From her blood, and through the cinder Arose the water, and then the trees The dead black trees, became stained by the water
Then turning a deeper green With wood from the tree, she made fire With every bit of strength she threw it into the sky With the flame, and with her hand Gone from the forest was the lonely night Behold, the goddess of the dawn, the bringer of the light!
