One day they came to me and asked me, where you were.
I told them, you'd been gone traveling for years.
They did not trust my words and their doubt was brought up.
Then they dived into your wet grave, but it was much too late for that.
They could not know that you are visiting me every night
To curse me with your love that can not let go
So you stroke my face with your dead hand
And from bloodless, white lips you whisper:"You swine are alive and I'm not."
So every night I am lying in your dead arms again
And your eyes are still shining, like they had guessed all of this.