Till morning I will run far away,
Soul-crushed I will cry and vanish;
Now I cannot cry or say a word
Hearing songs of Paris.
The train is hammering now, loudly,
I go away, I travel home,
So far I hold Paris in my heart,
At dusk I am alone.
The whispering huge brown monster, warms,
Kills all I had, those crazy dreams.
I will be more pallid, the next day,
Or the lofty Swiss hills?
I will be whiter, then the mountains.
I can feel the wind of graveyards,
The hallowed ground Hungary sends kiss
And all the best regards.
Ah, my life can't be happiness here
Or there. Wondering is allowed.
Sacred city of heavenly wonders,
Paris adieu, I'm out.
My faithless and ill god shall eat here
All the goods and sweets you offer,
The brandy, sovereign delight, Joy.
Sing more, sing more, louder.
You are the chosen to sing the Psalms
To this world, beggar and filthy,
In this too demented life, we will lie
A little bit harmony.
Sing, sing more. Your prodigal son is
Leaving you now, for song-less land,
By the misty Hungary-Sky Scape
All truant-rackets are sent.
Iced auras and the scent of cold meats
Sway above flowers in the mist,
This is Curse-land. For me: sweet home,
The sunless, savage East.
I must go. Destiny calls me back,
Hereafter, maybe I lay dying;
I will be murdered by scents of musk
And the wordless warbling.
They will kill me, and still my rapture,
I will lay cold and foolishly,
Paris, you gigantic home of Songs
Sing some rapture to me.
With lacy-odour and with hot calm,
I want to embrace once again,
Kissing her, she kissing blind my eyes;
A young mademoiselle.
In the dawn of the city, the psalms
Shall echo centuries ahead,
A cold iron-monster may ride out
And on it there's a dead.