Howbeit strong I seem to be I have sorrow inside and ask for forgiveness You, lady of an immaculate word And I have misused your favour So I ask myself who am I? Once a hunter a fiance of fear now I may not turn and look up to your face after all It is not for the first time when I deceived a tenderness And I have not said the last word He emerged from the night, covered with the cloak With and exhausted horse and faraway expression How shall he address, ask for a shelter? Why was he carried with the wind straight hither? I have flowers in my arms And I hardly pull my legs in irons through the soil A crown of thorns on my head And a fruit of life of my blood is laying under my heart Heavier than a stone It's your sin that lead my ways astray in the rocky paths The irons, the irons are your emotions I shed my blood, the blood of your blood And the blood of my blood May it become poison and you drink water with this blood