We look down, for rotten bodies Knots, from above, soon there will arrive In his time … With rest …
Countless they are sometimes that the Death wakes obscure reflections In this deep Winter, the souls wander without direction Of the latrines I see our future, our life without sense I live with this vision to run me the spirit, Vanishing slowly …
With the thick fists, the Hatred comes to from above Days of hope are made agonized and let the apathy penetrate Last years are to forget and the newcomers will only bring misery The emptiness that is is appreciated in silence, without more not at all …
In these unchanged woods for the time, the rails prevail accidents The moonlight happens in the torments of a maculated memory, cutting off it
Funeral mine is to result, in a mournful night my crying will be heared Funeral mine is to result, calm I will be going to hug it without sadness …