The playful wind wanders,
Extinguishing the lights at the crosses,
And from the sordid graves,
A haunted voice is born to be heard.
From the stain of shadows,
Death calls the gravedigger to come among the dead
To dig a resting place at the cemetery’s end.
The gravedigger is sucked into the depths of the earth by a holy ray of light,
And in the silence that comes from beyond the horizon,
Where the living can\'t see further,
The dead are watching how new boundaries are drawn.
The gravedigger has signed again
In the book of dead, fragments of the past,
With a pickaxe and a shovel.