| Her dead body smells like flowers... | |
| The first rays of sun... | |
| The dawn lights up her slaughtered throat. | |
| I stroke her arm with my hands. | |
| Her blood is still warm. | |
| How beautiful she is! | |
| I shake her trembling hair | |
| The grasp she sees | |
| The fatal grasp of the dead stare | |
| I play with her like a doll | |
| It's time for the next drawing act. | |
| I catch the energy of her soul. | |
| It is the work of art. | |
| The creation of my hands. | |
| The creation of my hands. | |
| Her posture is stationary. | |
| Arms are placed across. | |
| She was so fond of Him. | |
| Now she is with Him. | |
| Why did you love Him and not me? | |
| Not me! | |
| Now your Christ be happy! | |
| With your Christ be happy! | |
| Her posture is stationary. | |
| Arms are placed across. | |
| She was so fond of Him. | |
| Now she is with Him. | |
| I am sad and terribly lonely. | |
| So I cut out my heart. | |
| And let me have the strength | |
| To put it next to her... |
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