Pale shines the moon above me
It lights my way through the desert night
How much further do I have to wander?
How much more must I sacrifice?
Mentioned only by the mad one
The nameless city — shunned by all
What awaits I can’t imagine
In my thoughts the poet’s words I recall:
«That is not dead which can eternal lie
And through strange aeons even death may die…»
The wind… Unspeakable… so cold… so cold…
A presence… in the dark… the wind… it tears my soul
Behind the walls… Underneath the towers…
Of this cursed city… the horror I faced…
Beyond belief… I stared into the abyss…
The Labyrinth… The tombs of glass…
Twisted and grotesque… the demonic corpses.
They looked at me… with empty eyes…
And I swear… And I swear…
I saw them move. The mad poet…
His words… «That is not dead…»