I own the net all fish swim into.
Joyous the calm bosom of the fisherwoman rises
when she pulls aboard the silvery catch.
The riches of the world I carry on my shoulders.
I carry you, I carry you to a fairytale pond.
Up on the beach a fisherman stands with a golden fishing rod.
Someplace there are gods behind the densest forests,
only there do we wandering human children wish to go.
Up to seek the flaming sun of the future behind the forest.