You have got a son, all I've got is night,
You have got a home, smoke beclouds my sight,
Flying far away over father-flame,
It forms icy veil in my eyes, turned gray.
You enjoy a song, all I've got's the Moon,
In your home is warm, mine is freezing soon.
Behind me's the wall, in it: glass and door, -
That is all decor, that is my whole war.