The Dead Awake;
High from heaven’s arch the stars rise up to the sea and the waves sing a sacred song.
This is a song so tragic that no man could write it but the rocks echo it coldly into the night.
The waves mumble as the homeland recedes singing a song of long lost joy.
Echoing from the land of palms the words resound from alpine glaciers.
Thus sounds of the words of the Rhine.
The fishers in their boats often hear this song
and deep in the ground the dead awake enthralled for their home.
It wakes up the dead when the waves sing this song,
and the locks of hair wave from their faces once again.
They plead to the breaking waves;
please travel towards our homeland as their ships list as if in a dream;
How sweet was life!
The Dead Awake;
High from heaven’s arch the stars rise up to the sea and the waves sing a sacred song.
This is a song so tragic that no man could write it but the rocks echo it coldly into the night.
The waves mumble as the homeland recedes singing a song of long lost joy.
Echoing from the land of palms the words resound from alpine glaciers.
Thus sounds of the words of the Rhine.
The fishers in their boats often hear this song
and deep in the ground the dead awake enthralled for their home.
It wakes up the dead when the waves sing this song,
and the locks of hair wave from their faces once again.
They plead to the breaking waves;
please travel towards our homeland as their ships list as if in a dream;
How sweet was life!
