T H E E N D C O M M U N E

i will meet you below the southern spruce
that is where i will hang one day
i will meet you on a karelian summer
in the shadow of that big, big tree
i will meet you at the root of it
where you pluck your beautiful flowers;
i will cough when you cough and i'll bleed
so that you'll never bleed out

i will never meet you at the southern spruce
i wanted to but i was too late
so i can just write these bad, bad lines
and hope it can reach you from here
i will take a dagger right to your heart
and taste that elixirious nectar
which fertilized the dead, dead, frozen dead soil
out of which you rose as a flower

as bloody battles toiled on by your window
so did those of your warrioress life
because you found your dimensions
and it befitted you not to be less
but no accursed war, not in the lungs nor on the field
could take the fruits away from you
which you sowed and reaped and ate
all by yourself, all by yourself

you were born an old, old soul
and fucking Raivola could not contain you -
you are a spruce; i am rain; i'm a seed - you'll live again
come and i'll lend you my lungs!
we never even met and never we will
so i might as well just shun you
but there is something here that i just can not explain
there is something with you, friend

 to E.S.