|
Weakness of the past |
|
Like vapor in the trenches |
|
These lowlands haunted |
|
By a man clad in frost |
|
All evil deeds done |
|
Are piled up into hills |
|
And visible on the left side |
|
Fields of bad omens |
|
Behind the skyline |
|
The worst noise of the world |
|
Violent crows of this dream |
|
Flying backwards |
|
Open below us |
|
Another swarm grows |
|
Feel like tumors |
|
Which shall return |
|
And every night someone |
|
Moves all the clocks forward |
|
And the sun seems to |
|
Set always at the sunrise |
|
No one leaves this place |
|
No roads out from here |
|
No passing birds ever |
|
Really do pass by |
|
No one entering here |
|
Walks without trembling |
|
No one ever dreams of |
|
The hands of tender fathers |
