Fifty Bad Translations
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| Fi+literal
| En+Fi (Finnish)
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I knew it was bound to happen as time bleached white the hairs on my head. I wish I could arrest a minute, or even a moment, like grabbing the collar of a passing dog. But it runs off in the night, and, so, too, simple joys, like friends and wine. Few charms remain to charm the remains, retaining little pleasure, or even comfort. I knew that a quiet grave waits for me, but I have fought all my life for beauty so, even in the icy storm, in the howling wind, it’s hard to stop fighting. The wounds have healed and I bear the scars. I’ve sung the songs and now I’m done. I’ve paid for the priceless and now I’m poor. Precious little remains in my accounts. And what’s left? A ringing in the ears from all the notes I’ve sounded, an aching back, a raspy throat, my heart as empty as my house. It’s useless to fight against the gods when even a feather of a wing can destroy us. As the thunder subsides and the rain begins, all my worries wash away.