Death on the rails

Death on the rails 

(Ady - Halál a síneken átirat) 

With weak arms and full of pains, 

I’m just pressing the cold rails. 

I’m waiting in the night for death, 

under Babel in the autumn-forest. 

I don’t hug you anymore, it was enough, 

it didn’t hug me back, it threw me far. 

My lover; the Life
who cried frost on me in the night. 

Life; Life; girl of the street, 

my arm has been patched, 

I hug the rails, this is the end, 

It’s coming, the singin’ deathmachine. 

Now firing ashes are falling under, 

Babel’s wain lambers, 

my arm is shaking youthly when 

I want to hug, to hug again. 

It’s coming forward me; Life; Life, 

army of dreams without seeds. 

They’re coming, the vultures of wishes. 

It’s coming, my black-winged past. 

I give you one more hug; Life, 

my arm is waving a last, 

and it cramply enwreathe 

with the spokes of the wheel of saints. 

Márc.21.