The magician was dreaming up
colours for some strangers in town
gradually losing themselves -
the ones constantly wandering about
in the dark asking cobble-stones for advice
while their ongoing battles
and closing time expressions
formed the silent question -
Who's holding the compass?

Those weird ones up there gleaming
murmered the blotchy-faced
while acting the beast - Stupidity!
You can´t scratch ‘em from here, anyway!
cried the one with the white scourge
And the stars looked down
aimlessly drifting like men
in the middle of devastation
without any given place of resort.