Toward morning, the sun strolled out in the forest
Together with me and father,
My right hand in his left.
A knife like lightning flamed out through the woods and the wood,
And I was so scared of my eyes' terror, facing the blood on the leaves.
Father! Father! Come quick and save Isaac
And nobody will be missing at lunchtime.
It is I who am slaughtered, my son
And my blood is already on the Reich of the leaves.
And father's voice was smothered
And his face pale.
And I wanted to scream, writhing against belief,
As I ripped my eyes open.
And I awoke.
And my right hand was out of blood and time.