He killed so that the sobs and screams
Could ring out like a wistful bell.
No one revised his notes or themes,
He knew them all, and all too well…
Nocturnal scarlet seas of dreams
Deep there white bodies, ever-turning.
And he could hear their silent scream
Seeing the precous redness churning.
He soon awoke – but their sad thud
Kept piercing him like a harpoon.
Still, he could hear it, spilling blood
And whistling low this very tune.
Translation by Gingers