What's the meaning of this voyage?

To talk in a dream
So many bends and these years we've been together passed

And all this time she was tremendously excited
About everything she saw
Everything we had talked about
Every detail of every moment that had passed

Ready
One, two

I remember walking, one side of town to the other
Alone one night in January... or February
It's like in an old movie from some other land
It lasted for hours

Only streelights
And the grating of gravel in pedestrian subways

I remember some trees which stood black and naked
Weatherbeaten hollows of snow
With sparse lumps of ice,
Been scraped off by the wind alone
And on the stairs before I left
One of the girls had surprisingly given me a kiss
Stung in the cold long after

Ghosts presence, ghost music in the radio at night,
when you can't sleep, in the line of shadows
around the glowing red eye.

Voices that talk and talk towards nothing,
so that nothing's hollow role shall not slide
in on the scene in the solitary theater.

And the voices laugh loud, so the candles flicker
and go out, without noticing how dark it becomes.

And he who records the voices of the spirits
of the dead. On the tape filled with buzz and
cosmic noise you can hear their remote voices
form German words; they say: Wir sind die Toten,
which is true, whoever they might be.

The total inaccessibility of silence, it shines in the
wallmirror when you've left, and disappears
when you return. No silence in death's silence

You're taking a ride to the underworld
Where death lurks in dark corners
And trouble is never far away

Wild gangs rule by fear and prey on the weak
Lone killers haunt the highways
And dark forces move through the shadows

In this lowlife realm of freaks and psychos
Only the tough or the streetwise survive
And you might be big, but to stay big
You've got to keep moving, stay sharp and hit first

Enter a deadly future where no prisoners are taken
And the killing never stops
Enter the underworld

You fly, or rather float, drift
Through an enormous dark room
A room of noises

Endless shimmering glissandi
Crackling pizzicato
Coal black, turbulence holes of bass drones
But otherwise empty
No planets, no meteorites
If anything, perhaps fine dust clouds of exploded music

You float there, somewhere between pleasure and fear

In a piece of time you can't determine
You're everywhere but in the present
Hey you disappear further and further
Into these incalculable rooms
And your personality fades away

Your features evaporate, your body decomposes

And your last thought is that you have become a noise
A thin, nameless noise among all the others
Howling in the empty dark room