I follow the horse, into the woods.
Bleeding; wet below with my own blood.
The feet feel increasingly heavy;
a throbbing pain in the thigh.
The trousers have become like plaster
around the legs where the blood has congealed.
I falling, but rising again.
Tottering, limping, stumbling, falling.
My hunt reaches its end, in the wet marsh
by the lonely shore of the moon-iron.
The lonely shore of the moon-iron.
The lonely shore of the iron moon.
Why must I try fate again and again?
Why must I forget the pain when the wound heals?
Why must I get used to a broken body?
Why do I have to forget where I fell last?
Why do I have to forget? Why must I forget?
Why must I feel the old pain again (and again and again...)?
Once, this time, there is no getting back up.
I remains there, in the wet bog, alone and dying.
I can't get up again, and I don't want to either.
The moon is reflected in the surface of the water and winks at me.
The moon winks at me.
The moon winks at me.
The light grows stronger.
The moon goddess comes to me.
I am no longer cold.
I am warmed by the moonlight.
Why do I have to try fate again and again?
Why do I have to forget the pain when the wound heals?
Why do I have to get used to a broken body?
Why do I have to forget where I fell last ?
Why must I forget? Why must I forget?
Why must I feel the old pain again?
I am no longer cold.
I am warmed by the moonlight.
I am no longer cold.
I warmed by the moonlight.

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