Quiet Listening to sounds of dead nature Alone, tied to dry blanches That dilacerate my body and my soul At blast of unceasing wind That knocks down with more tragic The running blood all over my body
Shed blood clentchly too many teardrops At every blood drop that falls The pain of a broken body At shed tear drop
The suffering of a wasted dream I will softly lay on my tomb Feeling the stone coldness freezing my back Falling on a deep sleep
Silencing the clamor of my death Eternally dreaming in peace on my grave Expecting only from this dream Will not wake up any more