by Friedrich Nietzsche
The crows scream
whirring wings and move to the city:
Soon it will snow, -
Blessed is the man now - has a home!
Now you're standing rigid,
You look back, oh! how long!
are What you fool
fled before winter in the world?
The World - a gateway to
thousand deserts dumb and cold!
who lost, have lost
What are you, nowhere does hold.
Now you're standing pale,
For the winter wandering cursed
the smoke the same, always looking for
The colder skies.
Fly, birds, buzzing
your song in the desert bird-sound! -
hiding, you fool,
your bleeding heart in ice and scorn!
The crows scream
whirring wings and move to the city: it is soon apparent
-
Woe to him who has no home!
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