Macabria (allegro)

We’re looking for the dead
at cemeteries where they never tread
in silent churches where under mighty bells
even God himself hardly ever dwells
we’re looking for the dead
in rooms among their clothes
in the attics in the wardrobes
where the shadow painted like a lace
forms on the wall a certainly known face
and the wind wheezing through the door
is panting alive like a wounded boar
and it smells furthermore
in dreams where even when they come
it’s a bitter mash
full of sweetly trash
we’re looking for the dead
in a stranger behind our feet
(and perhaps under his disguise
he’ll touch us fast
and we’ll see at last
the beautiful dead eyes)
like on pictures
where there remained chained
fossilized smiles and numb eyes
the past glow
all cemented moments in a row
we’re looking for the dead
in wonderful theories
of reincarnation
transubstantiation
emanation
replication
in terrible hope of clones
in all those constant drones
we’re looking for the dead
we’re looking
we’re looking