I step out onto the grass
On a lazy Sunday morning
Of the first autumn frost

The grass crunches under my feet

The sky is penetrated
With a dark shade of gray
As melancholy as a crying pencil

The only sound to be heard
Is the deathly silence
Shrieking desperately in my ear

The tape recorder in my head
Play those words repeatedly
So shallow, so thoughtless
But they penetrate so deep

I think I have died here before
With my fingers rolled tightly in a fist
And this hurt is boiling
As I'm waiting to combust

In the midst of internal madness, I shake
And give in to this weakness
That tortures me every time I am alone

And no one is there to hold me
And now I finally understand how
An icy and bitter frost can kill
Even the most deeply rooted blade of grass