"What are you gathering leaves, girl? Man, I am a man-gatherer

"What are you gathering leaves, girl? Man, I am a man-gatherer. All the wounded and dead people open their boxes and pour them on the streets. Crippled--yet virtuous flower: I reap them--I reap sorrow! Nothing else? But-- there are many more colorful foliage, My leap fell upon Manvantar's death-seed, Aimless red mineral! Everyone is wet for my sake, everything is a matter of self-interest, All is pure pain In their other cool, I will sweep them in another wind As in the threshing-floor of the threshing-floor