War chariots thunder, horses neigh, the barbarians are coming.
What are we waiting for, young nubile women pointing at the wall,
   the barbarians are coming.
They have heard about a weakened link in the wall. So, the barbarians
   have ears among us.
So deceive yourself with illusions: you are only one woman, holding one
   broken brick in the wall.
So deceive yourself with illusions: as if you matter, that brick and that wall.
The barbarians are coming: they have red beards or beardless with a top knot.
The barbarians are coming: they are your fathers, brothers, teachers, lovers;
   and they are clearly an other.
The barbarians are coming:
            If you call me a horse, I must be a horse.
            If you call me a bison, I am equally guilty.

When a thing is true and is correctly described, one doubles the blame by
   not admitting it: so, Zhuangzi, himself, was a barbarian king!
Horse, horse, bison, bison, the barbarians are coming—
and how they love to come.
The smells of the great frontier exult in them.