You folk think me strange,
Someone's bauble, or
The work of a mind most deranged.
Just a machine, yet another work
Of one's hands.
A vast creation of brass cogs, copper plate
and copper bands.
What fools you outsiders are!
Letting your eyes and ears tell you what is
and isn't true.
My people are different,
Barbaric and superstitious in your eyes.
While our hearts are steeped in the old ways,
It is only your actions, not your customs
That we despise.
Beneath these cold scales and metal plate,
Beats a heart long-steeped in what is right.
You do not have to believe I am more than
The beast before you
Heed my words well, newcomers
While time remains for you still.
Please, for the sake of your own loved ones
Leave off your foolishness, lest it cause your blood to spill.
Remove the saws, drills and burning stench
Those trees have done your folk no harm.
The hills have no fingers to point, nor toothsome jaws to clench.
Disturb them, and they will bring naught but