Today I saw them. Their small pale
Bodies all wandered and wandered...

They spoke with you?

They, they spoke, that saw, how I observed
Behind their death, and I all time begged them to break off.
But they continued to wander in those dim
Corridors, sometimes from their mouth shout took off,
Filling all premise. Sometimes it seems to me
That they call each other.

Each other?

Yes, in fact they not alive.

Not alive, so who they?

These are patches of light from their rests of soul. These are ideas
Each of them told suicides to me
They asked the history, the life
To inform their speech by all thirsting to be heard.
I only showed their condition as music,
And the text were their ideas.

Frequently you see them?

Usually I simply hear them, but there is that their sight
Pursues me, they watch me. Usually when
I prepare for dream, they are hidden under my bed...
I hear their whispers...

" Do not speak it about us "

Why you have broken off?

" Please, be silent "

They ask my silence. I feel their hands on the
Shoulders, they spoke, that I'm a freak and that will not believe me.
But I know that, that it not so! I know, that I not the freak!

" IT all the same will not believe you, you freak! "

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