The Emperor
There is an eye in the stone. There is an eye closed with melancholy and tedium.
He passes by my door in a black robe. Winter emperor, my lonely emperor! With your white forehead reflecting the shadows of civilizations, you walk to the graveyard of Europe. The sun shining on your back, your self-punishment is painful.
Flowers! You extend your hands for them. At the end of the age of reason and progress, the winter of the world is about to begin. The beautiful European woman is an illusion, and who will kiss your hand? Is there a budding stage in your palm which has run dry with brown fate?
Flowers, scars like flowers!
He passes by my door in a black robe. Winter emperor, my lonely emperor! With your white forehead reflecting the shadows of civilizations, you walk to the graveyard of Europe. The sun shining on your back, your self-punishment is painful.
Flowers! You extend your hands for them. At the end of the age of reason and progress, the winter of the world is about to begin. The beautiful European woman is an illusion, and who will kiss your hand? Is there a budding stage in your palm which has run dry with brown fate?
Flowers, scars like flowers!
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