I lived once, many years ago
Down by the pinehill.
I was a young charcoal burner,
but envy corrupted my sense of honor.
I wished for fame and riches
The price was of no concern to me.
And so I became a victim
Of the demon of the pine realm.
He ripped out my beating heart
And kept it safe in a glass.
He gave me a heart of stone
And very fast were my fears forgotten
The life with the cold heart
Gave me all i ever wanted, but took even more.
I became famous and rich
But i was losing this game.
When screaming silence spreads out,
when one can only hear beating hearts
No sound emits from my chest
No sound that disturbs my rest.
Turned to stone were the dreams,
turned to stone, so cold.
Turned to stone were my tears
Turned to stone were my feelings
No happines made me rejoice,
Didn’t understand neither laughter nor jest
I had turned to dead stone,
just as my cold heart was.
Many years later I wanted
To see my heart one more time.
And in the demons cottage
I saw hundred glasses standing.
I said „Master, those aren’t hearts,
they’re only made of wax!
You never took my heart from me
I had already suspected that.“
„You little fool, I will teach you!
In this bottle is your true heart.
Take it back into your body,
feel desire and pain one last time as prove!“
Reunited with my true heart
I made a quick getaway
I fled as far as roads could carry me
Until i found peace again.