hate blows a bubble of despair into

　　hugeness world system universe and bang

　　-fear buries a tomorrow under woe

　　and up comes yesterday most green and young

　　pleasure and pain are merely surfaces

　　(one itself showing,itself hiding one)

　　life's only and true value neither is

　　love makes the little thickness of the coin

　　comes here a man would have from madame death

　　nevertheless now and without winter spring?

　　she'll spin that spirit her own fingers with

　　and give him nothing (if he should not sing)

　　how much more than enough for both of us

　　darling. And if i sing you are my voice,