A keresés eredménye

The Poet's Song

I haven't trudged through mud
I myself have been the mud trudged through
All that I want is to, by the well
Just wash myself, for so long --
Wash myself until I die
Clean water, clean water and sand
The well winch will bend
Like God's warm elbow
 
So I want to throw up blood
And vomit out that snake that's inside me
So that I'd be allowed to go to the meadows
And tend sheep with my sister
To craft reed flutes with my brother
And climb up church towers to ring the bell
And to persuade God
To take me as an angel
 
I haven't had to clean out muck
I myself have been the muck that's been cleaned out
All that I want is for my mother
To sit beside me by the well
Mother, let your hands be a towel
A white towel, white towel, cool linen
I, your son, have fought, mother
My heart is as heavy as lead
 
So I want to throw up blood
And vomit out that snake that's inside me
So that I'd be allowed to go to the meadows
And tend sheep with my sister
To craft reed flutes with my brother
And climb up church towers to ring the bell
And to persuade God
To take me as an angel