Journey of the Moles — Belobog Ancient Poetry Collection

Journey of the Moles — Belobog Ancient Poetry Collection is a readable series found on Jarilo-VI.
==Locations==
==Text==
===Pilgrimage North of Snowfield===
I had once gazed toward the snowcapped peak
Frosty springs had yet flow into the prologueBut appear skybound the eyes of others in the dark hoursClouds enveloped the mason in the villageAnd travelers peer into the Amber's past
The journey of my heartIs the pilgrimage of my soul
I had once gazed toward the snowcapped peak
In the days boreas borrowed my singing voiceThe land and the birds will all fall silentYou will see the spine of the world on the mining veinsAbove the stars and below the bonfire woodForging memories in the name of the blacksmithGiven meaning by the supreme fire
I dig burrows, and you build wallsI dig burrows, and you build wallsAnd one day the walls will fallAnd one day the tears will fallThe end is etched into the distant plainsWaiting for this poem to dieTill the snowcapped peaks close their eyesOr the flowers fall
===Dusk in Rivet Town===
I am jealous of the gear that lost the duskThe turning days never had a futureThree shields per bottleThe retail sale of soulsJust enough for one mouthful in a meal
Amber, amber, yet another amber for enrichmentThe stars in the hometown are never on timeWind, wind, another wind howls as a hawkThe evening light tollsAnd takes away the stone pier with nowhere to go in Rivet Town
Shackles applied, on a moist heartHow could it be measured in kilogramsYet another stone statue stands at the start of the mine shaftThe mining machines sculpt the pattern of its own trousersPassersby all sayIt's so foolish
===Chubby Larry===
Chubby Larry walking one step every three seconds To cross his brown kingdom Past the Forty centimeters of mine cart Past the Festival that lasts from winter to summer
Qlipoth had said We should build his temple with love But humans only ever offered rocks and words
Qlipoth had been here And gave him a sexy pickaxe He thought it was a secret He always faced the night deep in the mines, and shouted with his arms up high Chubby Larry! He thought he probably wasn't young anymore Fifty years of song Sealed away his arms like a mine collapse
Larry of the Broken-Arms! He embraced the winter like a rock crab and roared He walked past the silent beach of broken rocks with his draft His boss always scolded him With a ring of glory! With the clouds!
Lazy Larry! He stared at the funeral worm at the corner And cried in front of them, alone Larry the Crybaby! People no longer needed his stories Using the wanted poster of poverty as silver threads, they sewed his mouth shut
Sorrowful Larry! But he could still hear The breaths of flowing ores and the running steps of words Sorrowful Larry had to live in a portable coffin Taking out his sincere pickaxe Folding it into the form of birds he had never seen And flipped backward twice in overcritical degrees
Mute Larry! Weaving lyrics in the caves all on his own He ate seventeen, Soothing Mushrooms He said, "Wake me!" And seventeen poets slapped his face
They say, Larry was no more! Larry had nothing and crossed the Great Mine Like an iron pickaxe, he was buried in the earth
The passersby never saw this They just say A chubby man fell asleep
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