When the scenery is golden and solemn and a silent gate opens in the blury sky;
When the whiteness blows with fury as the sun refuses to come up;
When the mornings are green and the lake plays its flute in mythical harmony;
When grey steam holds me in sickness and monstrous sights and sounds take control;
My eyes keep raining and my smile keeps being feigned. My feet are wet with unwanted earth and water. My deep footsteps in teh white fields have been taken away by the continuous storm.
No one will ever know how far I got in teh poet's Fatherland, for the winds washed any trace away. And they won't care about where I dwelled in teh City of the Gods for I was not the only one there.
It is always the same.
Same lies in different tongues. Same evil in a different disguise. Same tortuous voices in different colours. Same cages in different sizes.
Had I but known this before I surrendered myself!
It is always the same.
I wish teh bitter journey came to an end!
I wish I were led to a peaceful valley in the Land of the Dead and be left alone and never were forced to return.
