There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for
certain, whether it was part of a lonely isle, or
merely some coastal region.
A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully
into the waves, and for one moment I did wonder, what
frightening purpose it might serve.
O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this
rage entomb? Have ancient memories or hungry ghosts,
gathered all their strength, to call for this storm?
Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by
ruins and rocks ivy-clad, perhaps this strange place
had once been a palace, where now viole(n)t bushes bear
dark thorns instead.
A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he
was leading me down below the gardens, which I hardly
remembered, the moment I took the first step
underground.
We came to a room with only small windows, and to my
suprise I could somehow still hear, though reduced to a
murmur, now chant-like and humming, to once savage
voice of the roaring sea.
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb,
below the ground, where there's no sound, he is hiding,
from the world.
Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret
overshadowed structure and use, underneath, in
inanimate self-contemplation, lay a jet-black mass of
coal-like granules.
Yet, this dark material had an unearthly lightness, and
when I touched it, to feel what it was, it did seem to
totally ignore my presence ...-without leaving a trace,
it came trickling off.
Then out of a sudden from under the barrow something,
appeared, unexpectedly: it was the bones of the little
boy's mother, which he had placed with greatest care
underneath
[Chorus]
There must have been something in my look(s), 'cause
the little boy started to speak, and to my unvoiced
Question of why he had done this, he answered these
words to me:
"This is the only way I can be save from her, only this
can guarantee, that she will not rise again, because
when she does, she is always following me.
There's just no alternative, I cannot escape from her,
because as soon as I try, she will get up again, merely
to haunt me...-oh, believe me, I have tried numerous
times!
But here in these vaults I have finally found something
that works like a seal, these jet-black granules do
keep me from harm, and her bones can no longer hurt me.
Piled up in a certain, specific form, all the remains
must be covered with it, then everything keeps still
and for a brief moment I can pretend, that she does not
exist.
Yet, all the time I must be on my guards, because now
and then it can happen indeed, that frequently the
earth does tremble and shaken, and some of the stones
are Starting to slip.
So, constantly I have to control the barrow, the jet-
black darkness of the coal-like mass, in order to be
there, to repair the damage, to pile all back safely
and to replace..."
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb.
below the ground, where there's no sound, he is hiding
from the (terrible) world. It took me a while to
realism that we all have secrets and fears ...- is it
then a surprise that we close our minds from the pain
that is causing these tears ?
