Breaking my sleep in its way half
the ghosts of my dreams slip in
and sitting besides my ear holes
they make hot discussions.
They talk of their unfortunate death
in an war which was not fought well
and telling me responsible for their ill fate
they mock at my peaceful sleep.
Teasing my lost courage they push me
and pulling me out of my disappointment
they laugh at my wishes to sleep again
and insist me to fight for my forgotten dreams.
Every night they bring with them
an weathercock, which they call time
and showing me its direction to somewhere
they forecast my victory in a war.
Every night they come to break my sleep
and every night I awake a little more.
They bring the weathercock again and again
and looking at this bird I dream of an war.