Body and soul, both tired and worn,
You’re far away from me.
That step I took, so brightly born,
Became a hell to see.

April will cry till midnight’s call,
No warmth to ease the pain.
I’m but a tool, no aim at all,
You’re but a tool, the same.

The sky will fade, and death will flee—
How can I call it back?
My God, what chaos spins in me,
Of dreams and rooms off-track!

What faces, words, what roles we bear,
What parts we’re doomed to play!
The script is clear: me, her, and there,
You form the triangle’s sway.

How can I break this frame anew,
And find a way to fall?
To rise at six, myself to glue,
And praise the full life’s call?

This strangeness, none to share it with,
In spaces not my own,
No one to drink or live or sing
Of brotherhood’s warm tone.

Body and soul, they burn away,
Near ash, they barely glow…
Look west—the skies, at break of day,
Are blushing rose, you know.