The water murmurs, cool and clear,

And shade sets in open fields;

the light has dimmed. And birds

have taken to the sky in dreams.

And Sweeper with his raven whiskers

stands all night through under the gates,

scratches his head under his soiled cap,

with dirt-encrusted fingers. And

in the windows merry shrieks are heard,

and stomping feet, and jangling bottles.

A day goes by, a week then passes,

and one by one the years follow,

and people marching in formations

keep disappearing in their graves.

And Sweeper with his raven whiskers

again stands at the gate, and through the night

scratches his head under his soiled cap,

with dirt-encrusted fingers. And

in the windows merry shrieks are heard,

and stomping feet, and jangling bottles.

Both Moon and Sun have dimmed and paled.

the constellations’ forms have changed.

then Motion became like syrup

and Time now became like sand.

And Sweeper with his raven whiskers

again stands at the gate, and through the night

scratches his head under his soiled cap,

with dirt-encrusted fingers. And

in the windows heard are merry shrieks,

and stomping feet, and jangling bottles.