How long have I been wandering uphill?
My lord, did you paint these meadows?
They are colourless
Roar... agonizing distant noise
Look at me
I kneel down before thee
Bow my head
Cover my ears
Weep...
This soil did never alter in two thousand years
I wonder if it is you who hunts them -
Or are they following me...?
This is a burden I was never taught to heave...
To you I implore, oh father!
Take this noise away from me!
Save me!
Father, make (of) me the seed for a silent meadow
Limp as a doomed horse I resume my way
In tears, on chafed limbs
There is no herb to be laid
Upon the stigmata of immortality�s burden
Father, make (of) me the seed for a silent meadow.
Этот текст прочитали 140 раз.