The foliage of the years past
Longs for rainfall so strongly.
The tramp whose insomnia seems to last,
In piercing dawn air, fancies rain only.
Bottles, mice — what a wretched bane?
Eyes scour for anything but a dump in vain.
Rails arrow through lead clouds.
Parties are ready for Death with no doubts:
Both the sweet sound of ceasing blossom
and the digger of graves who did his job awesome.
Damn it!
But once gentle notes of rain's murmuring voice
Crash into window glass,
It's clear to you there's no other choice
but endless loneliness.
Doomed to leaf through empty pages,
You're an unmoving bird, although totally cageless.
So it would be exactly the same.
You know how they say that life is motion?
If that is the case,
Being out of commotion,
You're effectively dead.
So please be reborn with your bloody thirst!
Inspire the millions, be the first!
Cause armies to move regardless of price!
Be the one who demands sacrifice!
For sure, life is motion.
And prisoners sentenced to death,
More alive than you in their locomotion,
Nevertheless,
They just measure the courtyard with steps.
Dirty windows long for rain,
to hear the sound of springs again.
Leaves scattered around,
Cracks in hardened ground,
The girl with the book that can't be read,
And even this heavy sky of lead,
Long... for a single... drop.