with his impudent laugh,
Is gaily blowing round bubbles, which rise into the air as if to reach the
worlds at the far side of the ether.
The shining, fragile globe soars strongly, bursts and spits out its soul
slight as a golden dream.
I hear the skull, at each bubble, beg and cry in pain: 'This savage,
ridiculous game - when will it end?
For what your cruel mouth is scattering in the air, murderous monster, is
my brain, my blood and my flesh!'
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