Am I dreaming or am I awake?
Hunger gnaws from within me.
The ghastly air penetrates my skin;
ice adorned leaves pierce my flesh.
O I am dreaming in an icy crate,
the ghostly branches dance on my wall,
by the moonlight their forms fling,
to Chopin’s nocturnes that devilishly caress.
Unseen sirens from a black cemetery make,
songs that drape my corpse in frost.
As I limp along the shimmering lake,
sinking from the marsh into an old inn.
Alone I am, in a cold emptiness;
alone, I struggle to keep my comport.
I plead helplessly for her majesty’s mercy,
like a breathing shark who has torn his fin.
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To thyself be true my friend