What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
I saw the pier! |
Saw! |
I whisper furiously.
|
What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
He is! |
He is! |
I whisper furiously
|
On the windows of the lattice, crouching finishes the slop
|
Cold floor, cold air and cold sweat
|
The walls are covered in letters and numbers.
|
Here are those who are waiting for death
|
And those whom she is waiting for
|
- Paracelsus, get ready! - the guard shouted at the door
|
- In half an hour they will judge you, beast
|
And someone, deep in the crypt
|
In the semi-darkness, half-light, he smiled and quietly said:
|
-Now.
|
Through the vaults of labyrinths, corridors - straight to the court
|
People in robes, hoods, common people
|
They read the rules, the code of laws, beat in the chest
|
They spat in the face, beat with rods - they broke the rod
|
- Known as "Paracelsus", you will be burned at the stake tomorrow!
|
- You have been found guilty of witchcraft by the Inquisition!
|
He fixed his gaze on the one who was saying:
|
-Who are you?
|
-Servant of God!
|
Well, I guess God is disappointed.
|
What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
I saw the pier! |
Saw! |
I whisper furiously.
|
What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
He is! |
He is! |
I whisper furiously
|
They lit a fire, read the sentence again
|
The mob crawled out of the holes into the square, despite the sea
|
- Renounce the demons, I conjure for the last time!
|
-Unfortunately, I don’t know him - then your friends.
|
lit
|
A crowd of onlookers noted how bright his face was
|
And how far was the fear, not a single cry
|
Burned out with a smile on his lips
|
- To know that was a sign! - they decided, - He was definitely a witcher!
|
On a dark night, in the darkest hour before dawn
|
Noticed a sentry in the square - a heretic was lurking
|
He carefully collected the ashes, he shouted at him,
|
But the wind raised the dust, the dust settled.
|
The heretic is gone
|
Dejectedly the horse trudged under the gloomy sky
|
And the rider pressed the urn to his chest like a mother to the child of Saturn
|
- Teacher!, - he whispered, - I believed!
|
A month later they saw that Paracelsus was treating children in distant Greece
|
What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
I saw the pier! |
Saw! |
I whisper furiously.
|
What we don’t know how to explain we call “mysticism”
|
The truth was cooling in the stills
|
One day all of us will be called
|
He is! |
He is! |
I whisper furiously |