yto you,

    express, in  drowned!

    From billoo billoill called and sang.

    Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.

    You still floill brike ts.

    O of debris, open and bitter well.

    Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,

    lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

    It is ture, the hard cold hour

    ens to all timetables.

    tling belt of the shore.

    Cold stars e.

    Deserted like t dawn.

    Only tremulous ss in my hands.

    Ohing.

    It is ture. Oh abandoned one!