my youth is a black storm filled with dark clouds and bright suns
the thunder and the rain sweeped all the flowers up
but now i can touch
the falling ideas to gather the flooded lands where the weather dug
holes like graves
i wanna dig my own grave to lie my old bones in it
and sleep in forgetness cause i hate seeing people cry
rather than
the tears from the world i'd like to invite crows and worms to bleed
my filthy shell
sickness and death made cinders with the fire that
blazed for tender eyes in which my heart drowned itself
othing remains
in my soul but this pale drawing that's as me dying in loneliness
Time eats life as a slow murderer of art a dark ennemy who frets our
hearts
but it won't ever kill my memories that were my delights and
my glories.