"with lilies o’erspread, she sings. but lilies are for funerals. not these lilies, she’d say if she saw the words were making me cry again, they aren’t real lilies at all, they’re just lilies-of-the-valley for faeries to sleep under. but tonight it’s already too late for crying, i’ve traveled too far into the land of sleep to turn around, and they aren’t lilies-of-the-valley, they’re real lilies that someone i don’t know is going to lay on my coffin and nail it shut as i sleep. lay thee down now and rest, she sings. she pulls the blanket up to my chin and turns out the light. the coffin nails scrape my skin, lots of little bloody wounds. may thy slumbers be blessed. and what if they aren’t blessed? then i’ll remain lying here in my coffin-bed forever. may thy slumbers be blessed. and the drops of blood will turn to stone."
~ jenny erpenbeck, the book of words, translated from the original german in 2007