Woe to the Children,
For the Night is long and filled with terror,
And the Mother's love is soon forgotten.
Woe to the Children,
For the wine embitters and the Faith soon dies,
And the Lover's blood is always sweeter.
Woe to the Children,
For the years are cold and unforgiving,
And the days are short and Death approaches.
Woe to the Children,
For the meaning never uncloaks itself,
And the futility becomes lucid.
