On crossroad congregation of a shadows pale
Awaits the duing poet's ghost;
The lady with the scythe spreads her veil
And show the way on everybody, who is lost.

So, some rainy day or frozen night 
I too will be no more;
The cold then may be will not bite,
When all is deep in the sepulchral hole.

Make way you worms, snakes and moles!
In our home your brother returns!
One with the flight of wandering souls,
Where the cold flames smoke silent and burns.

The lady with the scythe spread her veil
And show the way on everybody, who is lost;
On crossroad congregation of a shadows pale
Awaits the duing poet's ghost.