Men of the Wind

Shoot the men of the wind,
The air is being alive and well,
When do little men contrive the songs?

Shots are well placed on the grave travels
We endure in the wind of songs and revelry,
The adventure is hairy, and we are informed.

Little, little men, always of the wind!
Your song is so slow and dangerous,
That we have failed, and yet succeeded with our whims.