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Who would here descend?
How soon is he swallowed up by the depths?
Thou, Zarathoestra, still lovesth the abysses
Lovesth them as dosth the fur tree
The fur flings its roots
And the rock itself gazes
Shuddering at the depths
The fur pauses before the abysses where all around
Would feign descent amid the impatience of wild, rolling, leaping torrents
It waits so patient, stern, and silent
Lonely...
Lonely, who would venture here?
To be guest, to be thy guest
A bird of prey, per chance
Joyous at other's misfortune
Will cling persistent to the heir of the steadfast watcher
With frenzied laughter, a vulture's laughter
Wherefor so steadfast?
Mocks he so cruel
He must have wings who loves the abyss
He must not stay on the cliff
As thou, who hangesth there
Oh Zarathustra
Cruelest nimrod!
Of late still a hunter of God
A spider's web, to capture virtue
An arrow of evil
Now hunted by thyself
Thine own prey
Caught in the grip of thine own soul
Now lonely to me and thee
Twofold in thine own knowledge
'Mid a hundred mirrors
False to thyself
'Mid a hundred memories
Uncertain and weary from every wound
Shivering at every frost
Throttled in thine own noose
Self-knower
Self-hangman
Why didsth bind thyself
With the noose of thy wisdom?
Why luresth thyself
To the old serpent's paradise?
Why stowesth into thyself
Thyself?
A sick man now
Sick of serpent's poison
A captive now
Who has drawn the hardest lot
In thine own shaft
Now doesth thou workesth
In thine own cavern?
Digging in thyself
Helpless quite
Stiff, a cold corpse
Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens
Overburdened by thyself
A knower, a self-knower
The wise Zarathoestra
Thou soughtesth the heaviest burden
So foundesth thou thyself
And cansth not shake thyself off
Watching
Crouching
One that stands up right no more
Thou with grow deformed
Even in thy grave
Deformed spirit
And of late, still so proud
On all the stilts of thy pride
Of late, still the godless hermit,
The hermit with one comrade, the devil
The scarlet prince of every devilmen's
Now between two nothings
Huddled up a question mark
A weary riddle
A riddle for vultures
They will solve thee
They hunger already for thy solution
They flutter already about their riddle
About thee
The doomed one
Oh Zarathoestra
Self-knower
Self-hangman
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Self-hangman
Self-knower
Oh Zarathoestra
The doomed one
About thee
They flutter already about their riddle
They hunger already for thy solution
They will solve thee
A riddle for vultures
A weary riddle
Huddled up a question mark
Now between two nothings
The scarlet prince of every devilmen's
The hermit with one comrade, the devil
Of late, still the godless hermit,
On all the stilts of thy pride
And of late, still so proud
Deformed spirit
Even in thy grave
Thou with grow deformed
One that stands up right no more
Crouching
Watching
And cansth not shake thyself off
So foundesth thou thyself
Thou soughtesth the heaviest burden
The wise Zarathoestra
A knower, a self-knower
Overburdened by thyself
Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens
Stiff, a cold corpse
Helpless quite
Digging in thyself
In thine own cavern?
Now doesth thou workesth
In thine own shaft
Who has drawn the hardest lot
A captive now
Sick of serpent's poison
A sick man now
Thyself?
Why stowesth into thyself
To the old serpent's paradise?
Why luresth thyself
With the noose of thy wisdom?
Why didsth bind thyself
Self-hangman
Self-knower
Throttled in thine own noose
Shivering at every frost
Uncertain and weary from every wound
'Mid a hundred memories
False to thyself
'Mid a hundred mirrors
Twofold in thine own knowledge
Now lonely to me and thee
Caught in the grip of thine own soul
Thine own prey
Now hunted by thyself
An arrow of evil
A spider's web, to capture virtue
Of late still a hunter of God
Cruelest nimrod!
Oh Zarathustra
As thou, who hangesth there
He must not stay on the cliff
He must have wings who loves the abyss
Mocks he so cruel
Wherefor so steadfast?
With frenzied laughter, a vulture's laughter
Will cling persistent to the heir of the steadfast watcher
Joyous at other's misfortune
A bird of prey, per chance
To be guest, to be thy guest
Lonely, who would venture here?
Lonely...
It waits so patient, stern, and silent
Would feign descent amid the impatience of wild, rolling, leaping torrents
The fur pauses before the abysses where all around
Shuddering at the depths
And the rock itself gazes
The fur flings its roots
Lovesth them as dosth the fur tree
Thou, Zarathoestra, still lovesth the abysses
How soon is he swallowed up by the depths?
Who would here descend?
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