My house is overcast by clouds
Permanently weighed by a pall of cloud over the earth.
The wind, broken, desolate and intoxicated,
Whirls over the pass.
The world is laid waste by it
And my senses too!
O you enchanted by the music of the pipe,
Where are you?
My house is cloudy, yet
The cloud is impregnated by rain.
Cherished by the illusion of my bright days,
I stand opposite the sun
I cast my gaze upon the sea.
And the entire world is desolated, ravaged by the wind
And the ever-playing piper progresses onto his path
In this cloudy world.
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