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Little truth's wooer

found not his own riches

Crossed high handed across

self deceiving word bridges

Take now thy harp

and pay love to the lea

Which comfirms comfort

that nourishes and breets thee

Do not ask me

my anxious larvae

Crooked in my hand

thy hope couldn't be mend

When our souls are still pure

only our hearts can no one cure

Our souls are still caught

howbeit, we reck of naught

Thou sank downwards

from thy truth-insanity

from thy day's trot

of their light I#m weary

Evewards, shadowwards

art thou mindful, heart

Of ancestral thirst

for thy own part

Do not ask me

my anxious larvae

Crooked in my hand

thy hope couldn't be mend

When our souls are still pure

only our hearts can no one cure

Our souls are still caught

howbeit, we reck of naught

Do not ask me

my anxious larvae

Crooked in my hand

thy hope couldn't be mend

Fear not the way

to be always thirsty

A alleged evil school

Only poet, only fool !

When our souls are still pure

only our hearts can no one cure

Our souls are still caught

howbeit, we reck of naught

When our souls are still pure

only our hearts can no one cure

Our souls are still caught

howbeit, we reck of naught