| In the well square of the yard
|
| a musician came to us in the morning
|
| Oh my god
|
| and in indifferent silence
|
| sang about birds and fire
|
| and about love alone.
|
| He sang about the closed window
|
| he sang about a mad horse
|
| he also sang
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| about a single woman
|
| how the willow weeps over the river
|
| more about that
|
| how he is immensely lonely
|
| how a flower falls at your feet
|
| more about that
|
| like the old walls are dark
|
| how the moonlight silvers them
|
| more about that
|
| how the king was killed in battle
|
| and was utterly smashed
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| his guard regiment
|
| how the messenger rushed into the distance crying
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| and my heart was beating like a chick
|
| and the musician fell silent.
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| And he glanced around the windows
|
| one of the two I sang badly
|
| you are a bad singer
|
| or callous I have not met
|
| than in this damn yard
|
| human hearts
|
| how muffled the voice sounds here
|
| like dead glass windows,
|
| but my god
|
| like a sigh the window suddenly opened
|
| and the heart was enveloped in such joy
|
| and a woman looks from above
|
| a flower flies at his feet
|
| Oh my god
|
| because you are now my musician
|
| close your eyes for joy
|
| not for notes
|
| you sing at the windows do not look
|
| throw your face up to the sky
|
| Oh my god
|
| like the old dark walls,
|
| but over your head
|
| such blue.
|
| and he sang the day will fly by
|
| the evening star will rise
|
| the window will close
|
| because in this damn yard
|
| forever and ever
|
| so it is.
|
| I'll go through the dark arch
|
| gifted flower,
|
| but my god
|
| at the end of the cobblestone road
|
| always gives me the creeps, but here
|
| here they will remember me.
|
| And he raised a flower from the ground
|
| and stepped into the dark arch
|
| and now it's hard to make out
|
| through the thick stone houses
|
| and street heavy rumble
|
| what does he sing about
|
| how the musician came in the morning
|
| in the well square of the yard
|
| Oh my god
|
| and in indifferent silence
|
| sang about birds and fire
|
| and about love alone. |