Someday you'll ultimately be alone,
irrevocably alone.
Alone in the face of these few questions,
you know them well, as well
as I know them:
Were you loved by the world?
Will a trace after you...
a trace after you
remain or vanish?
It's an artist's sad waltz,
it's a cruel waltz.
Artist's cruel God,
when asked, is silent.
He knows, he knows the verdict.
You don't know it
and I won't guess.
It's an artist's sad waltz
till the white night's end,
until from the empty bottle,
off, a tiny fiend flies.
Perhaps someone's warm gesture
means, and is worth, more
than an applause of some huge arcades.
These thoughts are correct...
That's how you nicely comfort yourself,
yet in the cold twilight you anxiously
gaze into the distance, faraway distance.
Someday you'll ultimately be alone,
irrevocably alone.
Alone in the face of these few questions,
you know them well, as well
as I know them:
Were you loved by the world?
Will a trace after you...
a trace after you
remain or vanish?
It's an artist's sad waltz,
it's a cruel waltz.
Artist's cruel God,
when asked, is silent.
He knows, he knows the verdict
and you don't.
And I won't guess.
It's a waltz with some fate which
knows everyone's verdict.
Many's guessing it,
many will guess... but not me.
Not me.