A Fountain in Berlin

A Fountain in Berlin

Up the Teufelsberg I pushed my boulder,

And as it rolled back down,

I felt a dead hand upon my shoulder,

And heard the whispers of the town.

"Ich faßte vor ihnen Fuß um an dem flüchtigen Hauch den dies Geschehn zurückgelassen

Hatte mich zu sattigen.”

I stood, steadfast, upon the summit,

And took the breaths I dared,

Before casting my eyes to my landlocked comet,

To push up eternal stairs.

And as I climbed the Teufelsberg,

Water shot from a fountain,

And as it fell back down to earth,

I cursed this hellish mountain.

“That fountain which stands will fade away,

And the water will stream across the ground,

And when I die my body will decay,

And my memory will simply drown.

This mountain I climb is nothing more

Than the dead who have walked before me

Still I carry on and cry out for

A lasting state of reverie.”

But now the stairs were piano keys,

And my steps were hammer strokes,

Throughout Berlin grew Dead Men’s trees

Rooted in each note.

The boulder scratched the ivory,

And scored in it my song.

A song for all the living to see,

And the dead to sing along.