Nutrient is in the stone. The singer wishes us upon it.

Other creatures are born, live, and die. They have souls, and some of them even have songs. Not like us. We weren’t born like they were, and we’ll never die like they do.

We were created, and create ourselves. When we die, we create us again from what is left. It has always been this way. We exist, we break, and we fix our self to again become whole. Always, since we were created.

We are not born. We do not die. We do not sing.

We have souls.