[I peep into the deep
 of my soul, and there found in surprise
 that it was a plate of waste,
 a barren of wailng wind.]

 To where will you go?
 You keeper of the waste.
 To where will you go?
 You longer of a rest.
 To where will you go?
 You hunter of the wind.
 To where will you go?
 You bastard I'd rescind.

 Underground boy go to sleep.
 Here in Haven no heap to flee.
 ...stone by stone and rock on rock...
 Dive into Dream, the dark in dark.

 This game, this deserted game,
 the sacred distraction with no name
 suits you not, illegitimate son.
 You belong to the Pit of None,

 though there, as deserted,
 a name is likewise unneeded.
 O rest, wind-haunted boy,
 by my whisper go to sleep.