Из альбома: The Crown of Winter
Good morning Just woke up
Today is 20th of September
I wash and dress and then
Good morning Just woke up
Today is 15th of November
I wash and dress and go
Good morning Just woke up
Today is 5th of May
I wash and dress and then
And the ceiling's gone as
Heavy smoke Am off into the
Stream of Night so fragile
To live another life of mine
Either forgotten or unhappened
A boat is cutting dark-green waters, I am watching it while dad is rowing
I spot a thread of smoke at the bank, a smell of food, somebody's waving us
We're home, both tired, wet but pleased: today it was a perfect fishing
My mom's surprised and happy, so am I She's smiling, praising me, her son
Am running, my sister's joining me! It's swing time, who's the first?
We're swinging so that apples fall and joy's filling the garden
And then we're having evening meal outside, together
Black-yellow tongues of fire are rushing up
Into the velvet sky, so magically stellated
All of a sudden, a spark, it hits my eye
Growing's the pain to blow up the world and kill me back
Into the Day we all belong to
Morning Just woke up
And so it goes, day after day
A pale-gray circle
Of indifferent decay
I just don't know
What still makes me wake up
To find myself surrounded
By the dead again
For buzz of bees and scent of pollen,
And can-docks over water's deep,
For silver threads of warm rains fallen
For all it still dwells beneath the steep
For shady glades and sunny wild heaths
And golden meadows, where we've run,
For rapture of a careless child with
The taste of pinesap on his tongue
For a night-bird's flight across the river
Through the mournful toll of a lonely church
For after-dawn dew droplets quiver
And moths that dance in the light of a torch
For those who choose the pain of living
And bleeding wounds from that day forth
For martyrs tortured, whose forgiving
Still helps the Skies to bear this Earth
I take a deep breath as the vision's dying
Those never fail who never dare
Bewept by none and cursed, we were just trying
To dream of what you're not aware
Of floating mists embracing lovers
And honey poured on just baked bread,
Of solid rocks and fragile flowers
Yet nothing matters to the dead