Cras te victurum, cras dices Postume semper.
Dic mihi, cras istud Postume quando venit?
Quam longe cras istud, ubi est? Aut unde petendum?
Numquid apud Parthos Armeniosque latet?
Iam cras istud habet Priami vel Nestoris annos.
Cras istud quanti, dic mihi, possit emi?
Cras vives? Hodie iam vivere Postume serum est:
ille sapit, quisquis, Postume, vixit heri.
...and kissed the fairytale-land with pride
under the trees of lust
the leaves pure shadows on me
which shelter me from the darkness
which I was
I hold the dreams, within my arms
thrash the earth, within my tears
and heal my wounds in meadows of light
forgotten in the drowning land
now I leave my wishes
but love conquers all...
and every angel needs a tear to laugh
calling the fall
trust me, I...
Still drunken of spring's shining meadows and the myriads of flowers,
we shut our eyes to the beauty and fell asleep
...and oblivion erased our memories of fall and blinded our eyes.
Overwhelming were the days, as autumn embraced
the land of zephyr kissed the sky with passion...
But more seldom we remembered the perfume
of a long withered spring and summer's caress
faded like a candle in the w...
...and than she became older and left her friend in admiration
studded with bitter tears sickening falls the colour
taste for taste drowning in the nectar of clouds
which pass the light blind and bleeding
as the summer ever walks through winter's woods
...those tales...
stay far from me I lie to myself... and still I wish
I woke up again in the shining of help freedom and immortality
I opened ...
Zeersetz in blassem litch, das werme gab
schlief der mensch im lilienmeer
scheinbar ewig wartend, aber werdend
betrachtet von den auden derer die ihn liebten
Cras te victurum, cras dices Postume semper.
Dic mihi, cras istud Postume quando venit?
Quam longe cras istud, ubi est? Aut unde petendum?
Numquid apud Parthos Armeniosque latet?
Iam cras istud habet Priami vel Nestoris annos.
Cras istud quanti, dic mihi, possit emi?
Cras vives? Hodie iam vivere Postume serum est:
ille sapit, quisquis, Postume, vixit heri.
...and there is no sun
not then and never again
gloss nativity
desirable perfume of light
flavourless silence
the beauty of the gist
...but what is the gist
nothing or everything
embeded in lies about the real sense of life
the poise between the beginning and the end
...but this is the last dance
escape from this thorn undying
enrich me please in my truth
the slumber in enchantment
deify the b...