Оригинален текст
A bed beneath the Moon
so soft and white
invites the chosen one
we watched him going slowly up
with his pain and dreams
covered our eyes with a black veil
The dummies stood and waved
their last farewell
The world in black and white
became so small
Someone should have found the light
here or anywhere
to lighten up his gloomy face gloomy face
Did we need a hero’s death
to believe in a hero’s fate
Must we always have someone to burn
Do we know the beauty’s price
Do we pity ourselves for our
ugliness and our sickness
Do we live at all
The chosen one has made
his bitter way
took his holy cross and burned away
Flesh and blood have turned to smoke
We believed in him
When will we forget his face again
his face again