The elder sighed, picture of home they crossed his mind as they had been he knew the times had changed and wild was civilised. He felt his body old and worn, he said his heart was cold and torn but as he spoke, I saw gold under stone. To I his child, his words were sharp and drew the while the land had seen those peaceful times be changed and shove his world aside. We left our home now old and worn, our dying culture cold and torn, back home, no more golds under stone we must return to the oceans of dab-shi this is our own way to be, now from sancaro we must leave. This part of home in guanjama now bleeds with foreign needs, money. We walked for days, wwe crossed buantchama where we stayed with whom would take us in for trade, of food for words that counsil made, and to our backs the gaupameis, the jungle land newcomers praised for riches made, they did take, they did make, They could shape, they could tear down natures maze and make their own where where they could say this is the home that we have made and now the gaupameis, this is the land that riches makes and we will praise, we will rape for our sake. We have returned to the oceans of dab-shi here is our home, the land to be, true to the daemon that we see. This part of home in guanjama is free from foreign needs, greed. The elder diead, but he was home in peace of mind, so glad to see throughout the times no change had come to murder wild. Now set his body old and torn, his lifeless heart set cold and worn but had he known.
