It may be that I shall sing thee songs of them. But now, as I strive here to sing of the doe's liver, no words are born unto me: I can but sing, "O liver! O red liver!"
Uk:
That is a good song: thou seest that the liver is red. It is red as blood.
Oan:
But I love not the liver, save to eat of it.
Uk:
Yet the song of it is good. When the moon is full we shall sing it about the Stone. We shall beat upon our breasts and sing, "O liver! O red liver!" And all the women in the caves shall be affrightened.
Oan:
I will not have that song of the liver! It shall be Ok's song; the tribe must say, "Ok hath made the song!"
Ok: