Along the cliff, over the abyss, On the very edge I lash my horses with my whip - I urge them on! I donít have enough air: I drink the wind, I swallow the fog, I feel with disastrous delight: Iím fading, Iím fading! Slow down a little, my horses, Just a little slower, Do not listen to the sharp lash. But it seems Iíve ended up with capricious horses And I havenít had time to live, No time to finish my song. Iíll give my horses a drink, Iíll finish singing my verse, And for only just a moment longer, Iíll stand on the edgeÖ                                        
© Matthew Ryklin. Translation, 2013