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