There are no handles upon a languages
Whereby men take hold of it
And mark it with signs for its remembrance
It is a river this languages
Once in a thousand year
Breaking a new course
Changing its way to the ocean
It is mountain effluvia
Moving to valleys
And from nation to nation
Crossing borders and mixing
Languages die like river
Words broken to shape of thought
And broken to shape of thought
Between your teeth and lips speaking
Now and today
Shall be faded hieroglyphics
Ten thousand year from now
Sing-and singing-remember
Your song dies and changes
And is not here to-morrow
Any more than the wind
Blowing ten thousand year ago