Exile

I am a dead man who walks
not reported anywhere
unknown in the realm of the prefect
surplus in the golden cities
and in the green land

done long ago
and thought of nothing

Only with wind, with time and with sound

that I can't live among people

I with the German language
this cloud around me
that I keep as a house
drift through all languages

O how she darkens
the dark ones the rain tones
only the few fall

She then carries the dead up into lighter zones