I sewed each piece of the sky's thread, To prepare myself an eagle's nest, For Lord forbid I perish in luxury, I brace myself for the uncertainty, Yet it is for the greatest form of glory. Bury me in the stomach of an eagle, While the noble ones carry my coffin, Give glad tidings to the lowest ones; "The dreaded skunks' throne hath fallen!", And the stench shall haunt the void no more.