O' my white boy,
Before you grow amidst the withering flowers,
whose garments are embroidered with deceits.
Before they sow seedlings of discord,
within your trenchant and meek mind-
hark to my plaintive tunes of celestial abode.

O' my white boy,
Before you tread on this weary road,
whose paths are diverged into haunting destinations.
Before you sail on this beloved voyage,
Shall I tell you that a raging storm lies ahead?

Hark to the bitter notes of my dying mouth,
listen to the wistful sounds from my fading heart,
that the black man with the nappy ears,
is like the soulful night of singing crows;
which shall bring you sweet dreams of beauties.
And cover your days with sheets of fairies.