crying for a youth that whithers away and a tormented life,
lamenting on my shoulder memories of old,
that just like daggers pierce my darkened heart eternal no more.
This angel of stone weeps for my life and I weep for my death,
for this one does not seem to let me behold her shadowy face,
and leaves me wandering over lands of shadows and fortless ilusions with no haze.
This angel of stone who weeps tears for me,
seems to have more life than me,
and his lamentation is alive,
and it is irremediably beautiful as I cry.
I shiver as I contemplate him,
and my eyes cast tears of blood,
for he cries for a whithering youth
and a life in death that has barely worthly proved,
he cries for sins that are not his,
and for a darkened heart beating in deep bliss.
Dry tears that do not cease to run through,
and inert eyes that do not cease to see,
angel of stone, weeping your thoughts are,
and your lamentation for what once I was are futile and bleak.
My angel of stone,
cry for this time that rapidly has gone by,
but that my wounds has not healed,
and my heart does not beat as before,
for it has grown dark,
and its beating has ebbed more than long ago.
An angel of stone hauls himself over me,
and his lamentations are to be heard,
lamentations for sins that are not his,
but so oh mine that I cannot escape
for I just simply cannot see.
Chain my life to this constant wandering,
through deserted paths, pervaded with dust,
my feets tiredsome are,
and my capricious heart is,
for a time that went by,
and is not to come at last.
Cry my angel of stone,
lament my sins and feel my torn heart,
already entwined to oblivion
and mixed with a letargic feeling of lust,
thus in this world I wander with more pain than glroy.
RQ
Moscow
14/7/10
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