Oh, everything that's past is now an eternity.
A shadow that once was, a tree that still is. I am awake
under my own name, which remain awoken by
the hand holding flowers, a blood that strengthens itself with metal chains.
The voyage will end, only the silent hills will remain,
a grey emptiness, a lustful wind,
a place with no place in desire, offering
to free us with evil and tell us the truth.
You are all praying to the Sorrowful Nightingale.
Love is never over.
What's humane in suffering? Oh, stop and hear:
The day is echoing. Stationary stars stand.
Empty hands, an empty heart, an empty shadow,
and I am not here - but my love is.
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