There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for certain, whether it was par t of a lonely isle, or merely some coastal region.
A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully into the waves, and for one moment I did wonder, what frightening purpose it might serve.
O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this rage entomb? Have ancien t memories or hungry ghosts, gathered all their strength, to call for this storm ?
Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by ruins and rocks ivy-clad, perhaps this strange place had once been a palace, where now viole(n)t bushes be ar dark thorns instead.
A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he was leading me down belo w the gardens, which I hardly remembered, the moment I took the first step under ground.
We came to a room with only small windows, and to my suprise I could somehow sti ll hear, though reduced to a murmur, now chant-like and humming, to once savage voice of the roaring sea.
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb, below the ground, where th ere's no sound, he is hiding, from the world.
Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret overshadowed structure a nd use, underneath, in inanimate self-contemplation, lay a jet-black mass of coa l-like granules.
Yet, this dark material had an unearthly lightness, and when I touched it, to fe el what it was, it did seem to totally ignore my presence ...-without leaving a trace, it came trickling off.
Then out of a sudden from under the barrow something, appeared, unexpectedly: it was the bones of the little boy's mother, which he had placed with greatest car e underneath
[Chorus]
There must have been something in my look(s), 'cause the little boy started to s peak, and to my unvoiced Question of why he had done this, he answered these wor ds to me:
"This is the only way I can be save from her, only this can guarantee, that she will not rise again, because when she does, she is always following me.
There's just no alternative, I cannot escape from her, because as soon as I try, she will get up again, merely to haunt me...-oh, believe me, I have tried numer ous times!
But here in these vaults I have finally found something that works like a seal, these jet-black granules do keep me from harm, and her bones can no longer hurt me.
Piled up in a certain, specific form, all the remains must be covered with it, t hen everything keeps still and for a brief moment I can pretend, that she does n ot exist.
Yet, all the time I must be on my guards, because now and then it can happen ind eed, that frequently the earth does tremble and shaken, and some of the stones a re Starting to slip.
So, constantly I have to control the barrow, the jet-black darkness of the coal- like mass, in order to be there, to repair the damage, to pile all back safely a nd to replace..."
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb. below the ground, where th ere's no sound, he is hiding from the (terrible) world. It took me a while to re alism that we all have secrets and fears ...- is it then a surprise that we clos e our minds from the pain that is causing these tears ?
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