We have revived the water,
Or perhaps it simply woke up on its own.
Anticipatingly it's murmuring now along its ancient bed:
"Where is the stone - the tower - that worships and reveres us?" -
"No such a stone is here!", I swear,
Well-feeling that there should be.

On hottest rods
We are shooting through the night
Along a private garden-way,
Though we no longer have any business being here.
On the left-hand side: a green-house of some market-garden.
What fragile shoots are sheltered there?

Merry Rock, dressed in the midnight-gown of tears,
He is sitting on the floor and cries.
His eyes are gazing at the western sky.
Oh, everything seems lost to him.
Tapping his shoulder gently,
My desire hardly concealed, you've done a lot already,
And much more you will achieve.
Sweet [bad word] consolation is dripping from my mouth, can I - myself -
Believe this solemn vow?

I shattered all the mirrors,
Fearfully hoping that they won't be able
To remember my face.
Darkest of all lights, most greedy to embrace,
Surrounded by demons, all of them breathing - in life.

Between the tides... the time seems endlessly:
The force of habit, or whatever,
Pulled me back into a well-known pain.
What uses the knowledge of my progressions,
When the old world is gone,
Without a new one in sight, with my new-found life... -
I am homeless... again.