Petrificor

[Das Lyrische Glied]

You seem to take some pride in all the pain
Which you afflict me with from day to day.
You are my fate, and fate must have its way,
Not thinking of the scars that will remain.

Yet you don't even know that I've been slain;
My countenance was wholly swept away,
And so my faith - I shall not dare to pray
As Heart surrenders once more to the brain.

Watch harden now the fibres of my meat,
The beast turn into something still unknown;
May Fate pass by; I never will retreat.

What satisfaction, turning into stone!
Becoming through victorious defeat
A something wrecked, but never overthrown.