It was by the will of God
That I live in this anxiety.
Where all sighs are mine alone,
Where all longing belongs to me.
Such a strange manner of being
Does my heart possess;
It exists in a lost form;
Who gave it this magic?
Such a strange manner of being.
Independent heart,
A heart I do not control:
It finds itself lost among us,
Stubbornly bleeding,
Oh, independent heart.
I will accompany you no longer:
Stop, cease your beating.
If you know not your destination,
Why must you insist on running?
I will accompany you no longer.