The hope, that which dies, while having birth
The life, that which attracts the death
The love, that which kills with much love
secret, secret, secret!..

There'll be no words of yours, but I'll hear your voice
There'll be no eyes of yours, but your look will remain

Strange fascination by death,
Strange branches of a dead tree
are coming alive through
the garlanding-snakes
They mortify the angel
They get into reality
reality, reality!..

There'll be no words of yours, but I'll hear your voice
There'll be no eyes of yours, but your look will remain

The despair, you're living in
The remains, they suppose you to be
The pictures, that paint something with you,
they mortify…
they mortify…

© 2004 translation by Wolffanger