We pace each other for a long time.

    I packed my anger with the beef jerky.

    You are the baby on the mountain. I am

    in a cold stream where I led you.

    I packed my anger with the beef jerky.

    You are the woman sticking her tongue out

    in a cold stream where I led you.

    You are the woman with spring water palms.

    You are the woman sticking her tongue out.

    I am the woman who matches sounds.

    You are the woman with spring water palms.

    I am the woman who copies.

    You are the woman who matches sounds.

    You are the woman who makes up words.

    You are the woman who copies

    her cupped palm with her fist in clay.

    I am the woman who makes up words.

    You are the woman who shapes

    a drinking bowl with her fist in clay.

    I am the woman with rocks in her pockets.

    I am the woman who shapes.

    I was a baby who knew names.

    You are the child with rocks in her pockets.

    You are the girl in a plaid dress.

    You are the woman who knows names.

    You are the baby who could fly.

    You are the girl in a plaid dress

    upside-down on the monkey bars.

    You are the baby who could fly

    over the moon from a swinging perch

    upside-down on the monkey bars.

    You are the baby who eats meat.

    Over the moon from a swinging perch

    the feathery goblin calls her sister.

    You are the baby who eats meat

    the bitch wolf hunts and chews for you.

    The feathery goblin calls her sister：

    "You are braver than your mother.

    The bitch wolf hunts and chews for you.

    What are you whining about now？"

    You are braver than your mother

    and I am not a timid woman：

    what are you whining about now？

    My palms itch with slick anger，

    and I'm not a timid woman.

    You are the woman I can't mention；

    my palms itch with slick anger.

    You are the heiress of scraped knees.

    You are the woman I can't mention

    to a woman I want to love.

    You are the heiress of scaped knees：

    scrub them in mountain water.

    To a woman， I want to love

    women you could turn into，

    scrub them in mountain water，

    stroke their astonishing faces.

    Women you could turn into

    the scare mask of Bad Mother

    stroke their astonishing faces

    in the silver-scratched sink mirror.

    The scare mask of Bad Mother

    crumbles to chunked， pinched clay，

    sinks in the silver-scratched mirror.

    You are the Little Robber Girl， who

    crumbles the clay chunks， pinches

    her friend， givers her a sharp knife.

    You are the Little Robber Girl， who

    was any witch's youngest daughter.

    Our friend gives you a sharp knife，

    shows how the useful blades open.

    Was any witch's youngest daughter

    golden and bold as you？ You run and

    show how the useful blades open.

    You are the baby on the mountain. I am

    golden and bold as you. You run and

    we pace each other for a long time.