For something better than fame and success

Heinrich Heine: followed

My child, I am your child,

All of us are not happy

We crawl into the henhouse,

Hiding from the witch in the straw.

We stopped crowing like roosters,

And people pass by -

we remain silent in fear, they believe

We are the rabble.

Boxes to dance on the court,

wallpapered our fear,

we hide indoors

from the punishment of those in power, in the grand house.

Only the wild cats

Often come to visit;

Do not bow 'and make curtsies

Compliments for it is successful enough.

We are, by their being

Jealous of your carelessness;

We do not have the same natural confidence

Ask why there are so many shadows may be.

Our souls often sit and talk

Ask ourselves what is reasonable

We do not complain, it will get better

According to our time;

Love and faithfulness will not believe we

Found only tentatively in the world,

We are the children of the soul,

Their depth as rare as the money! ---

Children's games will begin

everything old is rolling over -

The world survived the times

for something better than fame and success.