You will be a man born too late.
Fortunes have forgotten you
Weaving thread
Of thin spider
Equinox
Leaves after leaves
Wrapping the earth
Atât de mult te-am așteptat să vii
Noaptea tiptil în vise la copii
În pomul plin, în lavița cu mere
We all were listening
In the music-room of life
God is conducting
The clock on the tower
has been broken and the time
like the ashes of the sun
it is still dropping upon us
Urcă Sisif bolovanul pe munte
Un bolovan uriaș nu o cruce
El muntele e osândit să îl mute
Nu Golgota din sine să-o urce.
From the tree of the cross,
Stairway to heavens,
White angels are descending
Like the snow on the lambs
It ought to be
A harbor for innocent
Victims, martyrs,
Lambs slaughtered
You, fields of grass
Place of interment
For our old bodies
Tired of travails
Like pilgrims going
In a faraway country
Arriving at the border
Where there is