To Me, A Fairy Tale Seems To

Instead Of A Homeland I Hold The Metamorphoses Of The World.

When Sleep Leaves The Body Like Smoke And Man, Sated With Secrets, Drives The Overworked Nag Of Quarrel Out Of Its Stall, Then The Fire-breathing Union Begins Anew . . .

But Silence Is Where Victims Dwell.

We Breathed The Air Of Freedom Without Knowing The Language Or Any Person.

When Sleep Enters The Body Like Smoke And Man Journeys Into The Abyss Like An Extinguished Star That Is Lighted Elsewhere, Then All Quarrel Ceases, Overworked Nag That Has Tossed The Nightmare Grip Of Its Rider.