The main thing in life is to fill your belly, fill it with onions, and it won't do. I will be cunning, I'll set some snares, there's a stream nearby, so I'll never be thirsty. I'll still be a lord of creation here, and when I die, as I dare say I will, I'll creep under a tree blown down by the wind, I'll cover myself with leaves like a bear, and on the bark I'll scratch in big letters, here lies Peer Gynt, quite a decent fellow, emperor over all the beasts. Emperor? You silly old buffoon, you're no emperor, you're just an onion, and I'm going to peel you, my dear Peer. Neither tears nor prayers will help you now, there's the outer layer all bruised and broken, it's the drowning man hanging on to the wreck, this is the wisp of a passenger, he seems to taste a bit like Peer Gynt, and inside here is the gold-digging eye, the juice is gone if it ever had any, this layer here with the hard coarse skin is the fur trapper of Hudson's Bay, the next layer is like a crown, thank you, I'll throw it away without more ado, here's the archaeologist, short but powerful, and here is the prophet, juicy and fresh, he's thick enough to bring tears to an honest man's eyes. Oh, this layer, so soft and immaculate is the man who lived for gaiety, the next one looks poorly, it's shot through with black, it brings negroes and missionaries to mind. There's quite a multitude of layers, when am I going to get to the heart? Oh, God, it hasn't got one, right to the middle, it's layers and layers, each getting smaller. Nature is witty, to hell with thought, once you start thinking you start stumbling too, as a matter of fact I can smile at that danger, I seem to be firmly set on all fours. Life itself is really a funny affair, people say it pulls the wool over your eyes, you make a *** for it and it's gone, and you get the wrong thing, or nothing at all. That's rare, I know I've seen this building before, those reindeer antlers over the door and a bolt to keep out hobgoblin thought. One who remembered and one who forgot, one who had faith and one who had none. The game is over, my race is run, what a trickster is fate, my empire was here.