They describe so distinctly everything:

I fear so the word of man.

And this they call dog and that they call house,

All expressed has such precision:

Here the start and there the end.

And this is called hound and that is called house

and here is begin and the end is there.

I worry about their mockery with words,

They know everything, what will be, what was;

I fear the meaning, the mocking game,

No mountain is still miraculous

all is known, what will be and was;

And their house and yard lead right up to god

mountains no longer hold any splendor;

garden and grounds go straight to God.

I want to warn and object:

Let the things be !

I want ever to warn and resist: Stay away.

I enjoy listening to the soung they are making

I want to hear the singing things.

But you always touch

You touch them: they are stiff and dumb.

And they hush and stand still.

You kill the things for me.

That's how you kill.