Page 96 - Demo

Blind SongThe pictures pressed into the earthby stones that have lain there for ages%u2014don%u2019t they look like faces that have been weeping, the blind places left in the heartwhen fear is removed. Bugs and worms rush out, the ants flare up like a blush. These impressions left by stones%u2014how they resemble sorrow, faces without formalmost drained of bloodin the footprints of Timeunder the boots of someone who sets his foot down slowlyfrom spring to fall,someone who goes silently through the woods and has plenty of time. Blind sang Billedavtrykket efter stensom har ligget lenge i jorden, ligner det ikke ansikter som har gr%u00e5tt, de blinde stedene i hjertetn%u00e5r frykten er tatt bort. Kribledyret piler ut, mauren blusser opp som en r%u00f8dme. Disse avtrykk efter sten, se hvor de ligner sorg,ansikter uten formnesten forbl%u00f8ddi Tidens fotefarunder st%u00f8vlene til ensom setter foten langsomt nedfra v%u00e5r til h%u00f8st, han som g%u00e5r lydl%u00f8st gjennem skogeneog har god tid til alt.