The dai ys longe doon.
Lyf ys cold whan hit will,
Bot hit ys warme eek.
Ich wondere aboute otheres,
Ich thynke aboute ther weies, ther sorwes.
Chaunge ys the kee to alles thynges.
Whi ne singen we nat grete songes,
Of knyghte and werreioures,
Of a long tyme passt,
Of wommen and men and ther lifes,
That thei lifed.
The matere of men ys lost in nebule,
Blod and teres fal from the hevenes.
Ich wayt, Ich se what peple don,
Ich woote what thei thynken,
Ich woote what thei willen,
Thei aren so onlusti, onhapi.
Nam ick nat eek onhapi?
Ich ne hope nat.
The day is long done.
life is cold when it wants,
But it is also warm.
I wonder about others,
I think about their ways, their sorrows.
Change is the key to all things.
Why do we not sing great songs,
Of knights and warriors,
Of a long time passed,
Of women and men and their lives,
that they lived.
The matter of men is lost in the clouds,
blood and tears fall from the heavens.
I wait, I see what people do,
I know what they think,
I know what they want,
They are so sad, unhappy.
am I not also unhappy?
I hope not
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