(Lament of the Igil)       i look for him in everywhere   in everywhere i found him not   exhausted i sleep in steppe      in the dream my gray horse spoke to me   find me neath the killing cliff   find me neath the killing cliff      hang my skull on the old larch tree   carve from its wood a two string fiddle   cover over with the skin of my face   string my hair down the neck in place      weave together anger and grief   bow down bow down and sing   i will return through you      strong and gray on mountain high   his black and white faces go running by      strong and gray on mountain high   he come with herd black faces wild