The painful discrepancy
Between the ideal and the real.
The melancholic nostalgia of Brahms.
A wind upon the open fields
Like a burnt offering.
The banished one listens
In his night-dark lair
To the songs of the ancient ones.
An old, old fable haunts me,
And will not let me rest.
Between the ideal and the real.
The melancholic nostalgia of Brahms.
A wind upon the open fields
Like a burnt offering.
The banished one listens
In his night-dark lair
To the songs of the ancient ones.
An old, old fable haunts me,
And will not let me rest.