I’m sick, sick, sick of this nonsense shit
Hiding my gentleness behind a nihilistic kiss
Never the muse is absent
from their ways: lyres clash and flutes cry
and everywhere maiden choruses whirling.
Neither disease nor bitter old age is mixed
in their sacred blood; far from labor and battle they live.
I’m more than ever tired
Either wish nor desire have set me on fire
Utilitarianism hardly touched my Gewissen
Oh arctic sea, tak me inBe my home sweet coffin