The grief lonely is cold as death
Slowly eats me from within
Awful groan calls me
In the embrace
In lifeless sight shrouds me
The withered hand stretches a staff
Staff of the wanderer
The eternal wanderer

Morning rising so it is fine
Lighting up still a sleeping grass
Dew is poured by solar beams
Irrigating with a life the ground
The careless soul is torn up
Not thinking of misfortunes
It is a pity, that I see it
Last time

My eyes have got tired of tears
The soul is tired from a life
I hear someone's voice
You somewhere there
There where angels are silent
There where black ravens
Fly above heathlands
I shall be there

I go through night which did not come to an end, and at times it seems to me, that she is eternal. Around there were black fields, burnt a black flame and the Darkness has risen before me.

I flied on black wings
Through the sea of a gloom
For dark distances
In emptiness where I shall die

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