I used to imagine
wings for myself
Demons tore them off
and even the strongest
joy of living was poured away
Silently creeping
zest for life remained there
among the ripped wings
My sorrow wraps the trees
under its veil
A boat glides from the mists
To its rower
I am willing to give
this heart
The rower knows his destination
I don't
Winter in the heart!
It's cold to travel alone in Hell!
The riverside blossoms
with flowers of death
The wind carries
unknown smells
I can hear the bark of the hellhound
in the wind
We row along the moonpath
in eternity