And this passion inside, that seemed to have reached its peak long ago

And the pale light of the Moon, that scatters glares on your white skin

Like clues of a clumsy killer, and cries almost not muffled by a pillow

And your flexible waist, and that wild fear — so disgustingly sticky

And this smoke so gray, yellow light from the windows opposite

And this pack of sketches, where once I sketched your profile myself

This black tile and a white Opel parked below

And gloves, so that curious operative couldn't find fingerprints

And tape on the wrists, and a tiny elevator, and a cramped trunk

And the path that winds over long bridges across the dark bay past high-rise buildings

That will soon melt away somewhere in the distance and gradually be replaced by a strange landscape

As if it came from Dali's paintings, and trees waving to us with their leafy plumes

And a sharp detour, and your quite delicate weight

In my arms these clouds are a white veil, like a bride's veil

An ancient sphinx guarding the entrance to this cold forest

The burden of thoughts, the crunch of branches, and my quest nearing its end

And your tickets to the front row in this black mass

Those like us in the Red Book, and those like you in the yellow press

That detective who will later put forward several versions about the kidnapping

This is the whole universe

Among many worlds (Among many worlds, among many worlds)

Among many worlds (Among many worlds, among many worlds)

We are just a speck, lost somewhere in the cosmic darkness, a lonely micron

This is the final station, snow covers the deserted platform

And a hoarse groan and a piercing scream, and the flight of owls and this creepy trip

And an altar, whose sight causes shivers and a knife sharper than a dozen razors

Figures in robes at the edges of the glade and a multitude of stars in the cloudy sky

And a whistling whisper that penetrates the skull, filling your consciousness with sweet poison

And a cold, cold, cold world, covered with snows and swamps

And dead gods who will come at the call, remaining eternally hungry

Creation of light, creation of darkness

Those who were born and those who perished

And the bas-reliefs on the walls around, obscene like the Tijuana Bible

And we, who came here for divine will, like Moses to Sinai

And enemies who managed to bury us, but did not know that we are seeds

Of an ancient, dark cult, whose keepers held a seminar here

And you, out of place, like an imperial horse brought to the Roman Senate

And the dances of wind and snow, and again as if in a dream you are

This glassy, detached gaze, as if you are not here at all

And the fear that it will awaken when the obsidian of these blades touches your skin

This is the whole universe

Among many worlds (Among many worlds, among many worlds)

Among many worlds (Among many worlds, among many worlds)

We are just a speck, lost somewhere in the cosmic darkness, a lonely micron

This is the final station, snow covers the deserted platform