Sing me my mother's song

The dying Artist by Zygmunt Andrychiewicz

Sing me my mother's song
The song she used to sing to me so I could sleep in peace
Sing it to me one last time
As I stand in the presence of death, as I am in its throes
In this bustling city full of life
I know many people, but as you see, I am alone
Sing me my mother's song
I left my little village searching for wealth
My village is small in numbers, rich in friends
When the song ends, take me to rest
How rich I was and I did not know
Sing to me, O Death, my final song
Sing me my mother's song
Will I become famous after my death?
Will my paintings be known and I be immortalized in history
As a painter who was unappreciated in his time
Or will I be cloaked in the black curtains of time?
I wrote my final letter, hoping it reaches my brothers
So they know the truth about their reckless brother
O Lord, let them forgive me
For I promised them I would bring them many things, next time they see me
How naïve I was,
Dressed in my favorite color, red, in my favorite shade
The only good thing
Indeed, nothing fills the eyes of mankind but dust
You, O musician, are you truth or illusion?
In any case, I thank you
Sing to me so I can close my eyes
So I can rest and sleep forever
Sing me my mother's song
Thank you, O specter
My only friend