Feast of the Flies

"Ciamar a tha aon ga dhèanamh? Cruthaich an sgrios sin?

Cò aig a bheil an rage botail sin?

Chan e an duine cogaidh a choinnicheas e

Chan eil na claidheamhan a bhios e a ’giùlan ri thaobh dìreach a’ lughdachadh

na fir a bhios a ’dannsadh mun cuairt ann am fealla-dhà na lèirsinn fhèin

agus na fir nach fhaic ach a-màireach

chan eil mòran cùraim aca dhaibhsan anns na dòighean sin, ruithidh iad agus dannsaidh iad ri chèile ann an leithid de phàtran is gum fàg e milleanan

ach fèidh na cuileagan

Tha bàs mar aon de na draghan as motha a th ’agad

Chan eil dragh sam bith orra cò a thèid a bhriseadh nuair a thuiteas am ball chun ghlainne

tha na shards air an cleachdadh mar armachd, gun a bhith air an càradh, gun dad a shuidheachadh

Bidh fir bheaga nan suidhe air an tùr aca de ghlainne briste

tha am pian na fhaireachdainn a tha iad a ’coimhead air fhaicinn

Ach aig deireadh an latha gheibh na cuileagan biadh"

~ Fèill nan cuileagan le Laidinn Bard

Translation: English;

"How does one do it? Create such destruction?

Who has that much bottled up rage?

The man of war is not a man to encounter

The swords he bares by his side are not purely decrotive

the men who dances around in the feilds of thier own vision

and the men who can only see past tommorrow

they have little care for those in thier ways, they'll run and dance to one another in such a pattern that it leaves millions

but the flies shall feast

Death is a little one of thier worries

They have no concern for who will be shattered when the ball drops to the glass

the shards are used as weapons, not be repaired, nothing to be fixed

Little men sit on their tower of broken glass

the pain is a sensation they look to see

But at the end of the day the flies get fed"

~ Feast of the Flies by Laidinn Bard