The guilt is not in you, I'm from another world.
A child of dusty dreams, your mother is the earth.
You are not to be blamed for what were my desires —
I didn't want lust soots, but a soul of crystal ice.
And what I wished from you is to be a looking glass
Of my daydreams in lucid solitude and trance —
A magic looking glass to animate my dream
That I have casted once from pale bronze and gleam.
The guilt is not in you, I'm from another world.
And in the cloudy frost I know no dust and dirt.
I'm from another life and nothing you can do
For my sleep of snow and dreams of icy dew.
What can you do for me — you're not a singing harp
My secret will remain lone, crying in the dark.
You're not a singing harp in accord with my soul —
To take my own song — the song of joy and woe.