Christ belongs to history,
Not to modern times, to a place,
To the North,
To the grave of Christians,
Cruel, timeless.
I sat near the beach
Yin drowning ,
In the bleak glow,
All my thoughts exploring death.
Behind me the branch of the old oak is creaking,
The wind spits its sad weight.
And the dawn of the last hours trembles
The death of a Christian dragged to the gallows.
Coldness waited nearby,
Getting a moment of ecstasy.
The deathly hardness of human flesh
Brought it pleasure,
Riistes, in tearing
Elm out of man ...
I cringe, raping
Take away the flame, my hope from life.
Winter but brings a new coldness
Who hates and persecutes.
Coldness inherits Hell,
Who clears and rages.
Out of the furrows of undirected loathing,
Arises Darkness to cruelty.
Still I waited for the morning to come
And I spat in their faces.