In the skulls' caverns, in silent, untidy solitude, In future-weaving, mournful, wailing, alarmed voices nestle, Watching in witnessing, womb-like silence, the devil's spasms of the soul.
They are still mine, for they have found a home with me. In my ears long ago the conscious exile of exile hath nestled his lowly cries.
My nerves, like a thousand times unruly lightning-bulbs, are bonging, howling naked - the hangman's Time is breaking through my lived ruins of existence. They fly, from one track to the next with my blind lament, With motherless sobs my thoughts warn of the future! - From the corners of my eyes a prodigal dream-rain oozes, for there is no Dear One here on whom I can still bravely lean!
In the pots of my chin-shattered mirrors The pine-woods of the deformed birch-fringed beret- Its rasping, wild voice like the dragging draw-string Whirrs like a whirring clatter. My shrunken, earthly life is shut up, My rightful self-defence I cannot break through. On the surface, all timeless events seem to stand still and frozen...
But down below the deep shaft echoes with beating sounds, and every day the ever-conceiving intellect may create something noble. - A beneficial growl of weeds holds me captive; a gloating whisper warns my inner organs to respect food, to the proper restraint of moderation. My tongue would sound like an extended harmony, if only the sound of indifferent yawning were to wrap itself around me. The tinkling of tambourines in unlucky blindness.
With will, with deed, I should find my feet with the clawed and determined consciousness: 'Yes! I will be able to do it, because I want it stubbornly, like a creed. I will enter this interest-centred, rotten to the core world in silence, like a slowly killing blade from its murderous sleep I will wake the man-laws of Morality with justice!