| Over there that little mountain rises,
|
| while some others dissolve into a plain.
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| Time redefines itself
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| and falls in sadness grain by grain…
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| «Time, my dear, heals all the wounds»,
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| the two-tongued echoes seem to say.
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| But nothing, nothing changes here,
|
| this pain remains and will not go away.
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| Lament:
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| «I went weak, as I grew old,
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| and time itself has made me slow…-
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| and as I close my eyes in sadness
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| a thousand seasons come and go…»
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| Mighty enough to cover all
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| and also cruel enough to reveal,
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| but all the wounds and scars he carries
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| neither force nor kiss can ever heal.
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| No, time heals nothing, nothing, nothing…-
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| spitefully turns away and laughs.
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| Leaves you half-broken and in defiance
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| is only added another scar…
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| Call it «blind"how he is writhing,
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| counting hours, centuries…-
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| the pain it grows and glows in tides,
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| unable to vanish, unwilling to cease…
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| No, time healnothing, nothing, nothing…-
|
| pushes 'till we’re diving into different flesh.
|
| Time heals nothing, nothing, nothing
|
| petrified within some unnameable shame…
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| Lament:
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| «Time's fingers claw, I am losing hold,
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| there is no hope for me on earth.
|
| Time either still or maybe rushing…-
|
| in any case it will turn out worse…-
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| Time is fleeting, time stands still,
|
| it stops for no-one and we’re trapped within,
|
| and though he may dream of the light,
|
| he is falling back (in)to the left-hand side…
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| Rèsumè:
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| «How I wish that I was dead
|
| and rest in final peace…-
|
| but even the luxury of death
|
| can’t cure the wounds time cannot heal…» |