Classic Poem

The tired heart sleeps well through the night
I sleep well
the owner of a lonely heart in flannel
what is it, there quietly moving in dream a suckling
freezing from cold a fly's whimper
bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm.

I feel sorrow over the dust-white light of this room
I feel lonely about the powerless tremor of this life.

My love
you're sitting there, by the pillow on my bed
my love, you're sitting there.
Your slender neck
your hair you've grown long
listen, my gentle love
please stroke my miserable fate
I feel sorrow
I watch
there a painful emotion
the melancholy of a landscape that sickens and expands
ah, from a corner of the lachrymose room, tired, wandering over the floor, the ghost of a fly
bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm.

My love
maiden sitting by the pillow in my room
what do you see there
what do you see about me
are you looking at my emaciated body, the shadow that thought left in the past
my love
as if smelling a sour chrysanthemum
I smell your mysterious passion, your pale faith
come let us unite ourselves body to body
your white hand laid on this, hand laid on this warm thing.

My love
the light in this quiet room is faintly red
there again a powerless fly's whimper
bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm.
My love
my piteous heart is like a child clinging to your hands and your breast
my love