The Neverending Story

by Michael Ende

‘Who can give the Childlike Empress The new name that will make her well? Not you, not I, no elf, no djinn, Can save us from the evil spell. For we are figures in a book – We do what we were invented for, But we can fashion nothing new And cannot change from what we are. But there’s a realm outside Fantastica, The Outer World is its name, The people who live there are rich indeed And not at all the same. Born of the Word, the children of man, Or humans, as they’re sometimes called, Have had the gift of giving names Ever since our worlds began, In every age it’s they who gave The Childlike Empress life, For wondrous new names have the power to save. But now for many and many a day, No human has visited Fantastica, For they no longer know the way. They have forgotten how real we are, They don’t believe in us anymore. Oh, if only one child of man would come, Oh, then at last the thing would be done. If only one would hear our plea. For them it is near, but for us too far, Never can we go out to them, For theirs is the world of reality. But tell me, my hero, you so young, Will you remember what I have sung?’