Текст песни Otto Dix - Мужчина, который не пишет прозу

Your hands , so cruel ,
I worshiped as a guillotine ,
You're an art erected vices
And draw knives word picture.

Old castle , concealing a threat -
The man who writes prose.
Drinks like water, angel tears
The man who writes prose.

The owner of my dreams hungry
You had once been part of their
You disappeared amid the cold water
Not making it clear what it means to happiness

In the hands of a frozen rose not warm
The man who writes prose
Drinks like water, angel tears
The man who writes prose.