We find it by the cliffside in the morning,
It is white and it does not move.
It has small and black and small eyes,
And we don't know what it is.
In the morning, when we find it on the cliffside
It does not move any more, does not breath.
It has small hands, it has long fingers
And we don't know what it is.
And when the sun shines high above the sky
I remember that fear is the oldest of feelings
And when the sun burns high in the autumn,
I remember how little I know.
For many nights we sit inside
Listening to the rain, the wind and the storm.
Out there they sail, clouds and ships,
The darkness moves like a living thing.
In the morning we find it by the cliffside,
a creatury, that has ears and mouth.
It does not move any more, it has something in it's hand,
and we don't know what it is.
And when the sun sinks lower in the sky,
I remember that hunger is the oldest of feelings
And when the pale sun fades in the night
I remember how little I know.
And I look at your face,
face that is so dear to me and
I know, that we are no longer
In the same world.