White Skin of My Heart

You are a dead shadow

on the white skin of my heart.

You are a word

that is not worth any lips.

Not a single star will warm

the cold feet

of the immortal wanderer.

The final hour has broken,

time to get the knives

and the blood ready.

No one has ever taught you

the human language,

no one has ever chased away

your broken dreams.

I am playing again with the light

you brought here

when it was raining.

Do not lie to my cold-blooded evenings,

do not command my dreams

to make the whisper louder

than the scream of the future.

Before you remember

your past time perfectly,

feed my tears with happiness,

give comfort to my prophecies.

I want to believe,

even though I forgot when God

has his name day.