Chapter Eighteen
The gray autumn arrives on this strange graveyard. An ice-cold storm wind attacked the graves of all the living dead. The flesh-deficient skeletons squat dumbfounded in the wet leaves, which in the last few hours had gathered together to form strange deathbeds. The hunchback is leaning - wrapped in a dark blanket - against her mortuary ark, which is rammed into the ground. Bertram, the servant, lounges on the stone lid of the Levski crypt and flirts with a bottle of vodka that the gravediggers had mistakenly left behind. Just a few graves away, a sad workman kneels in front of the Requiem pianist's rainy whimpering box, his little head lying next to it, peering into the morose deathbed that he would have preferred not to leave in the first place. Kezman advances between the tombstones, as if it were a patrol. The Werkelmann remained alive for a while - but death knocked.
THE HUMPCHED
BERTRAM, THE SERVANT
He felt a strange throbbing - death knocked.
His Schà ¤del griente grimaces - last night began.
The dolls stared at holes.
The graves were blown away.
The minstrel knelt carefully,
his dress was obsolete.
He stayed alive for a while.
The dead man looked forward.
The wind sometimes blew next to it.
The dead man would have liked to freeze to death.
KEZMAN (screams)
He felt the bitterness -
the Grim Reaper was pacing up and down.
He looked cowardly at his deathbed -
and clicked clack-clack.
KEZMAN ( whispers)
The dead man rotted forward,
He was babbling - and then:
A final evening was dawning!
KEZMAN (screams)
The dead man rotted forward.
A beetle captivated him.
He held his loose head -
and murmured fear and anxiety.
Solo Piano
THE HUNCHED ONE
The dead man rotted forward.
A beetle captivated him.
He held his loose little head -
and murmured in fear and anxiety.
/>KEZMAN (screams)
He felt the bitterness -
the Grim Reaper was pacing up and down.
He looked cowardly at his deathbed -
and clicked clack-clack.
Solo Piano.

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