Herbert Grönemeyer - Der Mond ist aufgegangen

The moon is risen, beaming,

The golden stars are gleaming

So brightly in the skies;

The hushed, black woods are dreaming,

The mists, like phantoms seeming,

From meadows magically rise.

How still the world reposes,

While twilight round it closes,

So peaceful and so fair!

A quiet room for sleeping,

Into oblivion steeping

The day's distress and sober care.

Look at the moon so lonely!

One half is shining only,

Yet she is round and bright;

Thus oft we laugh unknowing

At things that are not showing,

That still are hidden from our sight.

Lie down, my friends, reposing,

Your eyes in God's name closing.

How cold the night-wind blew!

Oh God, Thine anger keeping,

Now grant us peaceful sleeping,

And our sick neighbor too.

And our sick neighbor too.