A thoughtless ulcer confused, amorphous, deadly like the blades of the guillotine enclosed from darkness and soulless walking around no light, no warmth, no mirth only a monotonous course absorbed in endless mourning grief and the longing for the death is the only resistant cursed in eternal void not strong enough to end eternally await the quietus lay in the depth attain the death avail the mortality at last to escape from this mendacious mirage