Your face, marked with ugliness.
A taste of blood on the street of a devastated voice.
At that place, where the hands reach toward the sky, bent legs on the ground.

Going in a circle, bloody debris to be seen.
Borrows clothes. Shows, Rips.

He who comes across as two, has one fear.
Full of tramps, always a beggar, he denies the only
How much I would like the capability of parabole.
Of fraud, of forgetfulness, of memory.
To her who wanted your for a moment.
To her who was superiority.

To him who is afraid to live.
Sees death at every sunrise.

Leave go far away from me Soul, since I shall forever stay there.