Irrlicht
Will-o'-the-wisp
Winterreise A Journey into Winter
Müller
The will-o’-the-wisp, there, lures me
Deep into the rocky abyss;
How I might get out again –
That will be hit or miss,
For I’m used to walk at random,
All roads have their end;
Our sorrows and our happiness
On whims of chance depend.
I’ll follow the dry river bed
Wending its way below;
All rivers end up in the sea,
And in the grave, our woe.
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