Whoever tends to descend here,
How quickly
The depths swallow them! —
But you, Zarathustra,
Still love the abyss —
Do you, just as the spruce?

Its roots shoot down, where
The rock itself tremors
Gazing into the depths —
It tarries at abysses,
Where everything around
Tends to fall:
Amid the impatience
Of the rough boulders and torrential streams
Patiently enduring, firm, silent,
Solitary ...

Solitary!
Who would even venture
To be a guest here,
To be your guest? ...

A bird of prey perhaps:
who might well hang,
the steadfast patient sufferer,
Gloating delightfully in its coat,
With mad laughter,
A bird of prey's laughter ...
Why so steadfast? —
Cruelly, it scoffs:
One must have wings, if one loves the abyss ...
One must not remain suspended,
Like you, hanged one! —

Oh Zarathustra,
Cruelest nimrod!
Recently still a hunter of God,
The snare of all virtue,
The arrow of evil!
Now —
Hunted by yourself,
Your own prey,
Bored into yourself ...

Now —
Alone with yourself,
Paired in your own knowledge,
Amid a hundred reflections
Before your false self,
Amid a hundred dubious
Memories,
Weary from every hurt,
Chilled by every frost,
Strangled by your own rope,
Self-knower!
Self-hangman!
Why did you bind yourself
With the rope of your wisdom?
Why did you seduce yourself
Into the paradise of the ancient serpent?
Why did you crawl into yourself
In you—into you?

An invalid now,
One who is sick from snake venom;
A prisoner now,
One who drew the hardest lot:
In your own shaft
Laboring bent over,
Excavating yourself,
Digging into yourself,
Without aid,
Stiff,
A corpse —
Overpiled by a hundred burdens,
By your overburdens,
One in the know!
A self-knower!
The wise Zarathustra! ...

You sought the heaviest burden
Yet found yourself —
Cannot cast off yourself from you ...
Lurking,
Crouching,
One who no longer stands upright!
You are deeply rooted in your tomb,
Tangled spirit! ...

And yet recently so proud,
Upon all your stilted pride!
Recently still the godless hermit,
The co-settler with the devil,
The scarlet prince of all arrogance!...

Now —
Between two voids
One who is twisted,
A question mark,
A weary enigma —
An enigma for birds of prey...

They'll certainly "dissolve" you,
They no doubt hunger after your "dissolution,"
Indeed they flutter about you, their enigma,
Around you, hanged man!...
Oh Zarathustra!...
Self-knower!...
Self-hangman!...