Night. A wind-blown musician plays a nocturn on dead branches
Out of the darkness a bent figure creeps
a quiet weeping flows…
From the beginning of time
eternally so- a shadow sad and silent
I wander bleeding over the earth
driven by fiery whips to my via Dolorosa!
The road is my cross- the wandering, my nails
Forward, Forward! woe!
Without end is my Dolorosa way!
And over me the clouds-a gang of broken-down
mourners money lenders
And in me seething restlessness of wild ocean waves
Red anger and black despair
And in me the howling drone of wind through an abandoned ruin
And in me the horror of jackal cries on a field of carcasses
Around me tubercular autumn plays a gasping song
of agony, blood and madness
And around me-faded leaves-long haired witches dance a ghostly circle
And behind me the piercing whistle of fiery whips Forward Forward!
Woe without end is my Dolorosa Way.
I am sick and tired, sick and tired.