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Stabat Mater, P. 77: IV. Quae moerabat

de Dominia

Her dead body smells like flowers
The first rays of sun…
The dawn lights up her slaughtered throat.
I stroke her arm with my hands.
Her blood is still warm.

How beautiful she is!
I shake her trembling hair
The grasp she sees
The fatal grasp of the dead stare

I play with her like a doll
It’s time for the next drawing act.
I catch the energy of her soul.
It is the work of art.

The creation of my hands.
The creation of my hands.

Her posture is stationary.
Arms are placed across.
She was so fond of him.
Now she is with him.

Why did you love him and not me&
Not me!
Now you are with him.
With your christ be happy!

Her posture is stationary.
Arms are placed across.
She was so fond of him.
Now she is with him.

I am sad and terrible lonely.
So I cut out my heart.
And let me have the strength
To put it next to her…

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