كلمات Like The Scythe In The Ripened Field

I cling to the branches like snow in the valley during spring Like a cold spray I drift in the wind I fall wet into blooms as a drop Around which they decay like around a bog " Because I can't go quietly, I fly Through every sky over sound buildings Toppling pillars and punching holes in walls Because I can‘t sleep at night I warn others with the seas distant roars I climb into the mouth of the waterfall And from the mountains I release thundering boulders. " I am the grown child of world fear Who in peace and joy hangs Like the strokes of the hour in the days progress Like the scythe in the ripened field I am the incessant-thinking-about-death