Der Steppenwolf

Cold, dark stone,
covered with rustling branches,
ivy, whispering forgotten names,
the rain is banished from heaven´s merciless vastness,
like a murmuring river it falls,
embodying wooden meadows,
shrouding in my occult stag,
belling, oh, belling,
I am going astray,
play, orchestra, play,
I am the animal that can´t find no food.
At the old wall,
mossy, grey, sombre ... decaying in red and ancient times, coexisting in profound spheres,
this animal crawls,
it has returned, in quest of fortune and courage.
Letters in the cold, dark stone,
we aer alone.
Yet, the metaphorical moments encouraged my intellectual vampirism,
my desire for a lucid thought was filled in the utter dark.
Now, in a solemn and floating harmony, I listen to the the melodious colours of time.
A gentle spectrum comforts my weak hands.
Oh, subtle affection for grand and final knowledge,
time is not a disgraceful barrier any more.
But woe betide me if I forsake the precious rebellion.