Along these gardens the breeze of May
is drifting in the light
And all the pictures are holy and lost
are burning in the sky.
We're on the border, on the wet edge
the sparkling of the cross
and I see your eyes so far from here
flying in the purple dust.

Spring is all around you
and calls your name softly in the wind
Burning when the day is dying
she kills the rays of a boundless sun.
And falls after years of death
eternally on your tears of joy.
So feel, feel the hands of glory
that will lead you into a golden sea.

I see the angels, they come from there,
they've crossed the flaming curtain.
Your glance is nervous but there's no fear
you're waiting for your crown.

Spring is all around you
and calls your name softly in the wind
And falls after years of death
eternally on your tears of joy.
Starless is the evening door
I see your face, your face in the sun
and shine in this endless spring
forever in the light.

Burning when the day is dying
and kills the rays of a boundless sun.
So feel, feel the hands of glory
that will lead you in a golden sea.
And shine in this endless spring
forever in the light.

And shine in this endless spring
forever in the light.


I know all the waters 'round me
now are flowing to the sea
and every spoken word is a cancer
that slowly kills this hope in deep
and all the shadows on the curtain
are only traitors of a dream...
So, please, come to my empty lost room
because the lights are getting white
and then the figures on these ice walls
are cutting fingers in my head
and I'm not joking, I'm seeing they're coming
over my trembling and unsteady legs.
So you go on to say the waters
are only rivers to the sea,
but please, remember I'm so tired
and your rat-words make me afraid.
So my dear father and my good mother
my nightmares are your good friends.
My tears are vain and I've no more voice,
for all these years I screamed my name.
The glasses hide my tortured twilight
I've no more time to turn now back.
Why don't you know the spring is rising...?
You cannot follow me, because I'm dead.
I am the light, now...
I am the light.


ecov aim al è non atseuq.
outiba im
ocop nu opod, am,
isratsefinam arbmes,
etnemarar es ehcna,
amsatnaf ehclauq.
eniduteiuqni otnes, otnat ingo,
ottut etnatsonon, am.
itnetrevid, etlov a, izna,
ivittac onos non.
azneserp orol al
eritnes onnaf otnat ingo ehc
inimo iloccip itnat onos ic,
irossecorp i
ortned, ivac i art e
erotartsiger oim leN


All those years are passed by and lost
and I don't want to remember again
faces and memories, stars without life
like absent shadows or vain empty words
Now the twilight is burning its red wings
while I'm watching you sleeping at night
And in this light I can see your smile
taking away all this pain for a while.
When this ocean of rays is vanishing
when the screams of the children are dying.
I can recall only distant fragments,
His voice is calling our death in the hail.

Lay your hands on these tormented sons
and forget the blood on that lost hill.
Hope is a cruelty and terror the fruit
worrying and tired like the portrait of Christ.
And tomorrow will bring another sun,
other hateful loves and mercyless new dawns
Please, take me in your holy arms and after this
bury my skin and then burn me in your soul.
Please, take me in your holy arms and after this
bury my skin and then burn me in your soul.


Waiting for the silent men
watching the solar nights
while in these mornings
sparkling drops of young spears
are falling from the trees...
In the boulevard of light
In the boulevard of light.
Fresh waters and fountains
reappearing in the quiet zones
where is possible to rest
laying on the blue bed
at the edge of heaven.

And if in the night
I cannot see anymore flights
I can hear some distant screams
lost in the great obscurity;
when fog is turning back
from the front of a black war
I am walkig near that river
that leads me through the rain
as the gates of the wasted bridge...
as the gates of the wasted bridge...

Night of echoes, missing faces
missing steps of missing men
in a dream of grey old shadows
smoking cigarettes at last
on the bridge of broken leaves.
Smoking cigarettes with ghosts
on the bridge of broken leaves.


And at the end of day, pain's getting real
as no more light could shine for thousands of years

Where is the gentle haze that brings on the peace
Father of fear you ate the dark heart of night

Mind weeping rides away
tired of these long white nights
in silence I percieve
the years rolling by
for it's a puzzling feeling
that grows so much inside,
inside, inside my dream
tired and trembling I hide

A long night should feed the dawn but no light dwells here
The way to find the sun seems so distant now

Father of fear, my Lord, what are you for real?
You gave my aching heart to the wind from the abyss

Tollings of the new sun
have the same noise of dreams
while things just fall apart
and I can't resist
and like in troubled waters
I might now drown
so inside, inside my dream
tired and trembling I go

And death mows with her wing
as darkness drops down again
and wish I had courage now
equal to my desire
and have that proud look
shining in my eyes, as though
I had gazed, gazed for days
into the burning sun


Snow stops falling so it'd like to get dirty
at the street corners under the dreary March sun.
I'd give my own self for this dreadful winter
so it doesn't come to an end
In Death... within Death...
I've got Death... Death...
I love this fall full of tears
I love this useless downfall somptuos, blessed
I won't ever come back. Let me say it...
I don't ever want life in me again. Dreadful atrocious life.
A finest paradise, the joy of death
and garden full of statues without shade
And the madness from the deepest pain
shore... of the end
beaches without any sound
from the sea. Infinite and deserted
and such unnatural possession of agony
and then unconsciousness, so to feel its happy intoxication.
I don't accept any sentence from these vile ones
towards me or anyone else
There is no forgiveness. The end is absolute
War will finish
I accept death from God and, in Him do I want to die
I am the hell that few know. I'm here to meet a few
so life falls out, falls down. Speechless.
Within the flow of a tortured wind
the light falls down, gives up
I can't come out
Now I'm afraid
sometimes it comes back. It doesn't stay long
Nobody ever died here inside. Yes...
The boat is appearing from a straight canal
There it's raining... there inside.
Where I'm going...?
It's raining, there inside.
Having escaped from hell forever
I prepare myself
for my execution.


I see your body laying down
what are you doing ?.. You're joking...
I hear you laughing I hear you laughing
so, come, wake up it's time to go
why don't you move your legs
I'll tell you a story in your room
when we'll be back home
so, don't you be so uncertain
can you remember me?
I will take you in my friendly arms
and I will see you in the sun
we will go everywhere you want
and you'll smile forever
it's time to kill the sea itself
and every breath of life
I don't want to see anymore
those faces all around
and I will eat their pulsing hearts
under the rain of glory
so don't you be so uncertain
can you remember me ?
the time has come to kill the light
arrogant witness of the skies
the icy wing is rising up
to kill awfull horizons
so don't you be so hesitant
the CORRIDOR is shining
please don't you be so scared
can you remember me ?

(written by German poet Ernst Wilhelm Lotz)

Meine Nächte sind heiser zerschrieen.
Eine Wunde, die riß. Ein Mund
Zerschneidet gläsernes Weh.
Zum Fenster flackerte ein Schrei herein
Voll Sommer, Laub und Herz.
Ein Weinen kam. Und starke Arme drohten.
Ein Gram schwebt immer über unsern Nächten.
Wir zerren an den Decken
Und rufen Schlaf. Ein Strom von Blut wellt auf
Und spült uns hoch, wenn spät der Morgen grünt.

(written by German writer Georg Heym on 25th December 1910)

Schornsteine stehn in großem Zwischenraum
Im Wintertag, und tragen seine Last,
Des schwarzen Himmels dunkelnden Palast.
Wie goldne Stufe brennt sein niedrer Saum.

Fern zwischen kahlen Bäumen, manchem Haus,
Zäunen und Schuppen, wo die Weltstadt ebbt,
Und auf vereisten Schienen mühsam schleppt
Ein langer Güterzug sich schwer hinaus.

Ein Armenkirchhof ragt, schwarz, Stein an Stein,
Die Toten schaun den roten Untergang
Aus ihrem Loch. Er schmeckt wie starker Wein.

Sie sitzen strickend an der Wand entlang,
Mtzen aus Ruß dem nackten Schläfenbein,
Zur Marseillaise, dem alten Sturmgesang.