Howbeit strong I seem to be
I have sorrow inside and ask for forgiveness
You, lady of an immaculate word
And I have misused your favour
So I ask myself who am I?
Once a hunter a fiance of fear now
I may not turn and look up to your face after all
It is not for the first time when I deceived a tenderness
And I have not said the last word
He emerged from the night, covered with the cloak
With and exhausted horse and faraway expression
How shall he address, ask for a shelter?
Why was he carried with the wind straight hither?
I have flowers in my arms
And I hardly pull my legs in irons through the soil
A crown of thorns on my head
And a fruit of life of my blood is laying under my heart
Heavier than a stone
It's your sin that lead my ways astray in the rocky paths
The irons, the irons are your emotions
I shed my blood, the blood of your blood
And the blood of my blood
May it become poison and you drink water with this blood