Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs. |
Despair, night in the grieving senses. |
Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters. |
For whoever is lonely there is a tavern. |
Frost and smoke. A white shirt of stars burns your worn-out shoulders, and God's vultures tear at your metallic heart. |
I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods. |
Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower. |
Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls. |
The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart. |
The guilt of newborns is immense. |
The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels. |
When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood. |