This article is based on this Dutch article of Martijn Benders
Das Loch
At last, she
caught me—
the wretch—
as I strayed
through her cavern of moods.
Her face was barbed wire,
her laugh reeked of
funeral feasts.
“Stay for a while,” she whispered,
I said, “I must go at once.”
But her arm coiled
around my neck,
Her whisper spoke of nothing.
“It’s cold and dark, lonely here,
That, you’ll soon understand.
I’m so glad you’ve come to me,
Companionship feels so grand.”
“I can’t stay long,” I said,
“At home, my friends await.”
“Don’t concern yourself with friends,
Down here, it’s only you and me.”
“What about my mother?”
“I cannot leave her grieving.”
“Forget her, forget your life,
You needn’t remain her son.”
“My father would be disappointed,
He fought so hard for my sake.”
“Do you think your father seeks reward?
Pay him in pain—that’s enough.”
“But there’s a girl I’m missing,” I said,
“I can’t leave her behind.”
“She has suitors aplenty,
And they’ll find joy with her.”
“What about my little son?”
“He’s just like you.
In only a few years, he’ll make his way here,
And find peace in this place too.”
Then her pale green eyes began to glow,
Her hand reached for mine.
“Don’t worry,” she said,
“You’ll grow used to me, little one.”
Her gaze was the last light that lingered
In my fevered mind.
I broke free, fell to my knees,
And called upon the gods of men.
A whisper echoed deep within:
You must believe in love.
I lifted my face and, through the tears,
Saw light streaming down from above.
But her eyes were the only light
That my feverish brain could see.
Forget that you were born,
Your life is but a tale.
I spat out her tongue,
and sludge poured
from my mouth.
I hurled myself against the wall,
Tore and clawed my way from her snares,
Through the stinking, sticky clay,
Back to the light outside.
Now I’m home,
With my loved ones.
They pull me
to safety’s shore.
But on the darkest nights,
I still find myself
drawn back to green eyes.
Go, my friends, in daylight’s warmth
And stray not near the holes.
For deep within profane abysses lurks
What the grave forever mourns.
C) Townes van Zandt, translated by Martijn Benders, 2024