My Lords, in ill fashion are we buried, Buried staring up into heaven, We see the scud flying over the sky, We are worn out with the feet stamping in the earth,[50] The rafters of our house (the ribs) are torn asunder, The eyes with which we gazed on one another are destroyed; The nose with which we kissed has fallen in; The breast to which we embraced is ruined; The thighs with which we clasped have fallen away; The lips with which we smiled are fretted with decay; The teeth with which we bite have showered down, Gone is the hand which threw the _tinka_ stick, Rolled away are the hawks' stones (testiculi), Rolled away are the blunters of razors (alluding to the custom of shaving the pubes). Hark to the lament of the mosquito: "Well it is that they should die and pass onward; "But alas for my conch-shell that they have taken away" (the human ear). Hark to the lament of the fly:[51] "Well it is that they should die and pass onward, But alas! they have carried away the eye from which I drank." Hark to the lament of the black ant: "Well it is that they should die and pass onward; "But, alas! for my whale's tooth that they have taken away!" (The male organ; the most vulnerable point of attack for that insect when a native sits down.) [Illustration: Painting a _tapa_ shroud.] [Pageheader: THE LAMENT OF THE SHADES] And when the gods of Ndelakurukuru heard this song they cried, "Liku tangoi ya io," which signifies in the language of the immortals, "The mortals' way of burial is well enough, are we to condemn it for a song?" We are sitting and the stars are appearing, My feet are in the ferry canoe, There is trampling on the Path of the Shades They are following the "Long Road." I go on and speak as I go, The world there is lying empty, I am standing on the firm ground, I stand on the hard path, The path that leads straight to Kauvandra, The dance of the "Mbuno-ni-tokalau" echoes, What tree shall I take shelter under, I sit under the _ndanindani_ tree, We sit there chattering, Our food is thrown away, Our children are weeping, I hate to be buried looking skywards, I hate being buried to be stamped upon, The hand with which I threw my _tinka_ stick has been torn off, My legs have fallen off, like rotten fruit. Our bodies have been broken in half, Our teeth have showered down till not one is left, Our pupils have been turned round to show the whites, Turned so as to show the whites, The whole land is tremulous with haze, I sit down and weep with head bowed to the earth, Let us go and enter the house at Naisongolatha, Ndaunivotua has entered it (the singer of the _votua_), To teach us to sing the _votua_, They keep remembering as they dance, They sleep till it is daylight.