Da gibt es wieder Figuren in der Landschaft seiner Kompositionen, wie bei Caspar David Friedrich, und seinem Kreidefelsen auf Rügen, sie sind aber noch viel weniger konturiert, viel weniger verlässlich, erproben keine Weisheit, nur unbestimmte Weite, letzte und vorletzte Gedanken (wie bei Krapp oder Molloy), lassen still verlauten, verschwinden, schultern (an und ab) flüchtige Melodien, Figuren einer Melodie – und einmal heisst es sogar „my love“. (m.e.)
There were birds above
They sang it the whole day through
And the sky revolved a pink to golden blue
All the roads through time
Weave the world’s long rhyme
Let it all unravel in a sea of pearls and swine
There were bells above
That rang the whole day through
And the sky was shot with light and hazy blue
Early days of winter sun
All the days turned into one
All the sirens beckoning the crew
There were horns as loud as war that tore apart the sky
There were storms and floods of blood a human high
Never mind my love, let’s wait for the dove
Fly back to tell us there’s a haven showing night
There were those who ran away,
There were those who had to stay
In the end, they all went the same way