SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS LYRICS

1. A Wolf In Sheep's Skin Clad

Beware and be told!
That I may unfold
When thou least expect
my grandeur of old!
My prey is just that
which is not awake,
and even thine life,
I'd care not to take!
I hunt amongst thee,
lest thou forget,
thine is the skin
in which I am clad!

2. Romanze Zur Nacht

Einsamer unterm Sternenzelt
Geht durch die stille Mitternacht.
Der Knab aus Träumen wirr erwacht,
Sein Antlitz grau im Mond verfällt.

Die Närrin weint mit offnem Haar
Am Fenster, das vergittert starrt.
Im Teich vorbei auf süßer Fahrt
Ziehn Liebende sehr wunderbar.

Der Mörder lächelt bleich im Wein,
Die Kranken Todesgrausen packt.
Die Nonne betet wund und nackt
Vor des Heilands Kreuzespein.

Die Mutter leis' im Schlafe singt.
Sehr friedlich schaut zur Nacht das Kind
Mit Augen, die ganz wahrhaft sind.
Im Hurenhaus Gelächter klingt.

Beim Talglicht drunt' im Kellerloch
Der Tote malt mit weißer Hand
Ein grinsend Schweigen an die Wand.
Der Schläfer flüstert immer noch.

3. Dunkelheit

[originally by Burzum]

4. Neunter November

5. Tausend Kalte Winter

6. Spring '99

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind,
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest time.

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when phaebus was away,
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn.

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind,
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring shall be a harvest time.

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind,
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when phaebus was away,
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn.

O fret not after knowledge - I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge - I have none,
and yet the evening listens.
He who saddens at thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.

O thou who bent in all the autumn-storms,
Like the trees at the moor amidst the woeful winds.
To thy wretched heart the spring shall be a triple morn -
Alas! I still long for it! I long for it!





SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS LYRICS