Sorrow is mine for the moment at hand,
Tomorrow sublime in pastel grandeur
And here surrounded by a circle of kings
We sin in singing the songs we sing.
What asylum is this we have erected
In honor of escape? The power is rising
And wide eyed bacchants, foaming at the
Teeth are seeking their release from life.
No hills of emerald glades are there for us to dance upon
No fires are there to enflame passion within madness,
Only the asylum exists, its doors open to the world.
Its inhabitants resisting the temptation to sleep.
Who can know what goes on within these walls?
Who can know the rules behind these doors?
Fragmented delusion, solitude in seclusion
What disillusioning love is this?
What façade of bliss that beckons the kiss of wisdom
Within a moment out of time.
Sorrow for now is mine
Tomorrow sublime and forever undying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem