Today I saw them. Their small pale 
Bodies all wandered and wandered... 

They spoke with you? 

They, they spoke, that saw, how I observed 
Behind their death, and I all time begged them to break off. 
But they continued to wander in those dim 
Corridors, sometimes from their mouth shout took off, 
Filling all premise. Sometimes it seems to me 
That they call each other. 

Each other? 

Yes, in fact they not alive. 

Not alive, so who they? 

These are patches of light from their rests of soul. These are ideas 
Each of them told suicides to me 
They asked the history, the life 
To inform their speech by all thirsting to be heard. 
I only showed their condition as music, 
And the text were their ideas. 

Frequently you see them? 

Usually I simply hear them, but there is that their sight 
Pursues me, they watch me. Usually when 
I prepare for dream, they are hidden under my bed... 
I hear their whispers... 

" Do not speak it about us " 

Why you have broken off? 

" Please, be silent " 

They ask my silence. I feel their hands on the 
Shoulders, they spoke, that I'm a freak and that will not believe me. 
But I know that, that it not so! I know, that I not the freak! 

" IT all the same will not believe you, you freak! "