And this last one is called "Activist."
Rushing toward the mountains of flesh and water,
it lifts itself, departs from the body,
drifts above the pines.
Canyon walls and temporal creations of a steely world,
like mist it floats with breath of mountain.
And what happens then?
They rush to the north, a four day journey
to the places of eternal love, to the land your ancestors
found agreement with.
Linger in the arms of the male mountain you sacrificed for.
You are the blood soul of the ancients,
who know the language of plants and old pines.
You, who has seen beauty in the things unseen.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]