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.
