There the stone
fountains stand on squares made of
black-gray pavement
between flat greenery
There is a man there
in clothes of glass
writhing completely motionless
and silently screams for rescue -
your call, your plea
doesn't reach any ear
the walls are too close
the mirrors are too shimmering
>you feel how the Grimm
inn' fades into sadness
And tears give your eyes
the shine of despair
What do you see? What do you feel?
The end of time,
The birds are moving south,
It's almost that time
Winter is putting frost on it
crystalline Walls
The waters solidify
like your robe made of glass
Weary the sunny weather,
burning morning dew,
White on cold boards
Early evening gray.
Shadowless on large rocks,
where the sun never shines.
Tearing looks, skin,
crying for every inch now.
Insubstantial chains
The eyes turn gray
In the spiritual arctic
Weary head.
taken to dungeons
of red-hot sand
in paper mills
and black feather juice
A spirit longs for freedom at night
that never understands you
>the future lies in breeding,
ripened in cells.
The waters now jump
up from the ground
in cold climes
curled into lances.
What do you see? What do you feel?
The end of time,
The birds are moving south,
It's almost that time
Winter is putting frost on it
crystalline Walls
The waters freeze
like your robe made of glass
The mountains are far away
The sea is far away
The meadows are far away
And become far away They will stay forever.
What do you see? What do you feel?
The end of time,
The birds are moving south,
It's almost that time
Winter is putting frost on it
crystalline Walls
The waters freeze
like your glass robe
What do you see? What do you feel?
The end of time,
The birds are resting southwards,
Now the time has come
The winter has frost on
crystals laid
the wadders are solidified
like your glass garment

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN