So. And that is most likely the end.
The rain and the night cry all the while
and my mouth cries out for just one kiss
and cries and cries a smile.

All fairy tales must end this way,
or else-it is not right:
a lone soul in the wind out there
and his altar is the night.

And his priestess is his own desire.
And in flowing blue array
she kneels down at his feet
and is far away... far away...

As far away as my eyes are
lost deep in the woods so old,
playing blind and dead to the wind,
and I am tired and cold.

The roads are all so very long.
And hope seems all in vain.
And all the trees are so afraid
and every shrub drowned by the rain.

And I am one with the night
for I am as lonely as she.
The rain cries and the wind cries.
For whom? For themselves or me?


So geht wohl jedes Märchen aus,
denn sonst ist es nicht wahr.