a poem by Wienke Niedermanner

Black swamp, wave of woe,
Carry me safely down below,
Through the gates to sunless lands,
Guide me, gentle ferryman.
My tongue is tied with ancient gold,
My pride and virtue burned and sold,
A thousand souls stacked on a boat,
Seek sanctuary to unload.

Cold, sheer, faithful oath,
The greatest hero’s fateful clothes,
Dreadful waves for sullen men,
Drown them in your punishment.
You won’t run dry, you loyal bane,
Killed kings and boys that were too vain,
My blood is gushing, heinous tide,
Might never find some place to hide.