In the light-footed march of heavy time
Always the same way of living!
The same old habit of deceiving ourselves
By believing or disbelieving!

In the nimble flight of the dying hour,
Always the same disillusion
Of the same gaze cast from the top of the tower
Across the futile plain!

Nostalgia, hope - the name changes, only
The futile soul remains
In the poverty of thinking, today, of its wealth
Yesterday or tomorrow.

Always, always, in the fickle and constant
Lapse of endless time,
The same moment returns, unavailing and far
From what in myself I want!

Day or night, always the same (even when
Different) disillusioned gaze,
Cast from the tower of the ruined church
Across the futile plain!