Azazels Ode for Humans and God

If a goat floats to the mountain of your fathers,
if she falls down in the rock sea,
if her soul gives to my mouth later
and a sin, thus fat and hard.

If she sends away up to the end of the dunes,
from Your middle from now on, from now on,
if she sends here to expiate your actions,
under the sun - at my place:

Under the sun: Bleached bones,
under the sun: Putrescent fur,
under the sun God has spoken
with a voice like miracle brightly.

With a voice like distant shimmering
 lure I the flies to the meat.
 If my smell may confuse them though powerfully,
 if her decision swings, nevertheless, also in it.

 If then the dead person consumed and eaten
 and only the skull still holy laughs,
 if I have measured life and death
 with my hours of umflammender power.

 Has the animal presented himself then from same?
 If it was aware of his regulation
 or if it substituted only for one life,
 Priest - that you must not die?

~

 More than the harmless monster,
 more than the yelling of the dumb bride
 if fire always packed me of the people:
 Curiously I have looked at them.

 With an invisibly grinning eye
 if I have disdained all your victims:
 What then an animal to me is good as a victim,
 ask I if there a virgin stands?

 One of You always brought the goat -
 if his soul with mine has exchanged,
 further walked to the old man and to the cradle,
 has intoxicated me in your prayers!

 If it could feel, how people made:
 Has suffered and has sung,
 has quarrelled and has laughed
 and with the heavenly eye struggled

  Has told about the beginning of the earth,
  if the wisdom of the fathers has praised
  and a juicy pasture elective
  to my place of rest in the midst of the meadows.

  After one year, a moon, one day
  if I have flown back in the desert
  and then am again, as well as I like it,
  around my hill of the goats pulled.

        ~

   If I at lonesome nights go away
   above the valleys, to the mountain,
   if I see the castle and the walls - and live
   in the recollection to rich sense.

   At my lonesome nights wakes
   I in the emptiness which fulfils me,
   a forgotten flame and decorates
   they with the sky of forgotten world.

   At my burning nights leaves
   I my desert and become a wind,
   spread the wings and strive and touches
   The God because with him my brothers are.