Tomaz Salamun

Northern Seas

Don Rodriguez, kill the dog!
He stepped on your bread, don't you know?
Don Rodriguez, kill the dog!
He crumbled your green sail.
Don Rodriguez, kill the dog!
I repeat for the third time!
For, if his mouth will grow up together with the sea,
we'll lose the way,
loitering on the shores during cold nights
and Olson's glasses,
the trap for all us tailors and sailors
will pierce.
We'll never be hops again
and drink each other.