The sand of my hourglass is nearly finished,
nearly finished...
(To exhume myself and amputate all the pain)
The sand of my hourglass is nearly finished,
nearly finished...
(Nasty years which go by seeming a sharp rope around my neck...)
They're whips on fire, they're like thunder,
like thunder...
(Thousands of vicious ways to get lost and never return corrupting my head)
They're whips on fire, they're like thunder,
like thunder...
(By saying it's fine to close my eyes better than ignoring and hiding away)
S. Hexentanz
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