(Translated by G P Skratz) o god our kaspar is dead & now there's no-one to steal away with the burning flag & snap it every day in the dark cloud's braided hair. no-one to crank the coffee-mill in the ancient cask. no-one to conjure idyllic deer from the petrified grocery bag. no-one to sniff ships umbrellas bee-keepers udders of wind spindles of ozone no-one to filet the pyramids. o god god god our good old kaspar is dead. lord lord kaspar is dead. heart-broken shark's teeth rattle with grief in the belfry when we utter his given name. so i stick to his last, sighing kaspar kaspar kaspar. why have you deserted us. what form has your great soul wandered into now. have you become a star or a chain of water on a hot whirlwind or a plump breast of black light or a transparent brick on the groaning drum of the rocks of existence... o now the crowns of our heads the soles of our feet wither away & angels smolder on the funeral pyre. the dark bowling alley thunders behind the sun & there's no-one to wind the compasses & the wheels of wheelbarrows. no-one to dine with the phosphorescent rat at the barefoot table. no-one to drive off the wind devil when he tries to seduce the horses. no-one to teach us monograms in the stars. his bust will adorn all truly noble firesides but there is no snuff & comfort for a dead head.