There Was A Country By The Sea

There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for 
certain, whether it was part of a lonely isle, or merely 
some coastal region.
A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully into 
the waves, and for one moment I did wonder, what 
frightening purpose it might serve.
O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this 
rage entomb? Have ancient memories or hungry ghosts, 
gathered all their strength, to call for this storm?
Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by ruins
 and rocks ivy-clad, perhaps this strange place had once 
been a palace, where now viole(n)t bushes bear dark thorns 
instead.
A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he was
 leading me down below the gardens, which I hardly 
remembered, the moment I took the first step underground.
We came to a room with only small windows, and to my 
suprise I could somehow still hear, though reduced to a 
murmur, now chant-like and humming, to once savage voice of
 the roaring sea.
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb, below
 the ground, where there's no sound, he is hiding, from the
 world.
Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret 
overshadowed structure and use, underneath, in inanimate 
self-contemplation, lay a jet-black mass of coal-like 
granules.
Yet, this dark material had an unearthly lightness, and 
when I touched it, to feel what it was, it did seem to 
totally ignore my presence ...-without leaving a trace, it 
came trickling off.
Then out of a sudden from under the barrow something, 
appeared, unexpectedly: it was the bones of the little 
boy's mother, which he had placed with greatest care 
underneath

[Chorus]

There must have been something in my look(s), 'cause the 
little boy started to speak, and to my unvoiced Question of
 why he had done this, he answered these words to me:
"This is the only way I can be save from her, only this can
 guarantee, that she will not rise again, because when she 
does, she is always following me.
There's just no alternative, I cannot escape from her, 
because as soon as I try, she will get up again, merely to 
haunt me...-oh, believe me, I have tried numerous times!
But here in these vaults I have finally found something 
that works like a seal, these jet-black granules do keep me
 from harm, and her bones can no longer hurt me.
Piled up in a certain, specific form, all the remains must 
be covered with it, then everything keeps still and for a 
brief moment I can pretend, that she does not exist.
Yet, all the time I must be on my guards, because now and 
then it can happen indeed, that frequently the earth does 
tremble and shaken, and some of the stones are Starting to 
slip.

So, constantly I have to control the barrow, the jet-black 
darkness of the coal-like mass, in order to be there, to 
repair the damage, to pile all back safely and to 
replace..."

The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb. below
 the ground, where there's no sound, he is hiding from the 
(terrible) world. It took me a while to realism that we all
 have secrets and fears ...- is it then a surprise that we 
close our minds from the pain that is causing these tears ?