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The glass dome of the sky is blue, so that the blue sun fades, the dry hard light is blue, and also the pearls of dew. How long will I have to stay here? ,
I can't know what I want.
And beneath me the glass waves become silent.
Bells ring in the blue sky
of blue spruce trees in the glass ice.
Crystals slowly grow closer,
a mathematical vista.
And to close the glass gate
Fahrenheit comes out of his pot
on opal glass keys flutes,
of 'Near to You, my God'.
Yellow is the color I never forget
here in the steppe of cast glass,
blue is the fruit I eat with difficulty,
the shards taste sharp and cruel.
The dry silence becomes worse and worse
so that I have to flee,
because there behind the glass mountains
lies the land of flesh and blood.