Translated by A. Z. Foreman - False Dawn lyrics

A false dawn creeps up on the hills. Who knows If the bird's cry will hail the morning on? Soon there will be a stir of beds and clothes, A priest will sing his Latin all alone. The little girl in white who weeps for dawn... Look at her, friend, at the path's edge in dread. Why this mulberry pick against her heart? Spilt blood has stained the whitethorn flower red. Down from the heavens this new dawn unfurls: Flesh in decay under a linen sheet. A votive candle of d**h burns in the chapel: A lark moving its wings...in one last beat.