I don't know why, my eyes stay,
like that drop of water on the rose,
it seems like they want to fall and never cry,
my withered and seized eyes,
in your last gesture, that your hand drew in the air...
I don't know why, your goodbye was written,
tattooed on every little particle in this room,
your everlasting goodbye, like the perfume of the flower,
where the glimmering drop continues to stay without falling.
I don't know why, I feel so cold,
and I almost dare to think that I'm dead,
my hands barely hold the cup,
and my lips, hardly sip the absinthe,
in the distance, it even seems that the leaves of the trees,
sound like a threnody, as if Bach himself,
played for me Chaconne in D minor.
I don't know why I see your farewell again and again,
carved like a statue in that door,
I don't know why everything has suddenly turned night,
and where was your silhouette...
...it appears ghostly to me,
and my voice...
I know why, says: "Come in, don't leave."