How long have I been wandering uphill?
 My lord, did you paint these meadows?
 They are colourless

 Roar... agonizing distant noise

 Look at me
 I kneel down before thee
 Bow my head
 Cover my ears
 Weep...

 This soil did never alter in two thousand years
 I wonder if it is you who hunts them -
 Or are they following me...?

 This is a burden I was never taught to heave...

 To you I implore, oh father!
 Take this noise away from me!
 Save me!

 Father, make (of) me the seed for a silent meadow

 Limp as a doomed horse I resume my way
 In tears, on chafed limbs

 There is no herb to be laid
 Upon the stigmata of immortality's burden

 Father, make (of) me the seed for a silent meadow.