Another Heine - a really morbid one
The wreath that Miss Matty was tying
as I waved dear Weis off with a smile
reminded me that I was dying
That I won't be here in a while.
I shudder to think that no longer
are live things my proper concern.
Death's interest in me is far stronger
Though I'm not in a grave or an urn
I start crying each time I smell flowers-
real tears. I am leaving behind
all the beauty and sunshine and hours
of love. Tears are all I can find
At the Opera, I laughed once with such glee
at the ballet of rats. Now I hear
the sound of rats nibbling at me.
Their gnawing fills me with such fear.
The scent of flowers fills up my head
with sudden vivid memories of the show
dancers and chorus. Sweat-scented
in a tulle-fluttering rush they all go
They wave tambourines and their castanets click
their skirts short as it's legal to wear.
All their flirting and giggling just makes me sick
It's too much for a poor man to bear.
Get rid of the flowers. I can't stand the smell.
It brings back all the pleasures I've lost
All the sins I loved only too well
How I cry when i think of their cost