Vergängliche Tage und verratene Geister
It speaks to me
Words scattered like dead leaves
Weightless feathers carried by ephemeral days

Should I like a wolf
Change my cloth
Or come forth the same
Bringing my offering
I whisper to myself
Should I delude my kin or betray my spirit?
Oh, how I wish I did not know anything

A heinous act
If there ever was one
The trouble of being born sharpens my tool

If it mutilates me, what use would it have
To drink from the goblet of a life that is not sincere

Still I dread the future and I tremble not knowing
If I could end this existence
For it would be too late
You pay upfront for whoring
How will you repay your maid?
A mother soaked in red
Cleaning her son’s dread