And a hundred bolts of lightning opened us

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On our face, the bread we knead, In our mouth, the bread we all are. The sun on the snowy night, From the cold spring to the warm bonfire. The earthworm searches for the earth-hole, The furze surrounds the white birch, In a spiraling life. The cold kept us warm, And a hundred bolts of lightning opened us, We leave sad, yet happy. In three days plus three, plus one that is all. We are three, plus three, plus three, plus three, plus three, plus three, minus one who we all are.

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