There was a time: I loved and suffered.
There was a time: she was only my dream.
I secretly saw her one quiet night,
As the Amazon on her white steed.
What was the wisdom of boring books to me?
When I could touch her traces with my lips?
Whatever happened to you, the queen of my dreams?
What had become of you, my ghostly happiness?
Our souls were bathing in the spring,
Our heads were set on fire,
And the sorrow and grief were too far away,
And the anguish did not bother us.
But now, should I prepare her a shroud?
I drink through tears and cry without a reason.
The eternal cold and ice have chained your blood,
With fear to live, and foreboding of death.
I understood: no longer shall I sing.
I understood: I shall see no more dreams.
The days crawled to her, like threads of a lie.
There were only mirages with them.
I am burning the remains of holiday clothes,
I am tearing the strings, freeing myself from intoxication.
Never again will I be the slave of ghostly hopes,
Nor shall I worship the idols of deception.