O the ones, who have fallen apart

Take away omnipresent blood

All the suffer, that I forced to see

You will never stir the pity of me

...stir the pity of me



I became something strange in this world

And it kills me

But I still remember the times

When you didn't own them



I will close the whole the world

in the prisons with tall towers

They will throw me into dungeons

of their dead WALLS!!!



They will become my thoughts

About the days, weaved from the thousand hands



United they mean as long

as living moans are HEARD!!!

...as living moans are heard



They will become my thoughts

About the days, weaved from the thousand hands

Gather them!!!



The dullness of the mind pouring down from

the damp holes of commonness of those

Whose walls return to life after the long oblivions

Here are the hopes

Sonn they also will revive... may be...

But raising, glance over all the fascination

of your nonentity.