The angel behind my shoulders
Doesn't rustle his wings.
Stamping dirty snow of his hoofs,
Scratches his cunning horns.
Watch our traces
Cross each other
On his white-gloved hand!

The angel behind my shoulders
Winked to my reflection.
There behind the mirror glass
The moon's trickling down
Into my bosom
With your fingers.

The angel behind my shoulders
Wants to play dice with you.
But he loves me,
And that is why
He doesn't rustle his wings.

Er... well... say something?Emotion: embarrassed
angel (a) and playing dice?!?! very interesting ..but hard to imagine! is it any one of those russian folk tales?
Yep. Right. Playing dice. Scratching horns. Hoofs. [6] This happens...Emotion: wink

Sorry, difficult to interpret, right...

pieter, sori too disapoint you by mai englich and poetic abilitis