Life is leaving me ... Who knows where the light goes ... It slips away without telling me its destination.
Like a friend who departs in silence, leaving me alone with myself.
If I call after him: Where are you bound, where? he no longer smiles, only drifts on, vanishing into some unknown shore.
I cry out in despair: Look—I am here, alive, alive. Where must I go to follow you? And with the faintest laugh, "You are not me," he says, with sorrow in his voice.