I can transform my voice into typhoons.
My silhouette is great as the shades of crows.
Lonely without your embrace i sing a sad poem.... destroyed from inside with agony and apathy.
In the name of death, i can see her eyes at the back of the night, through the coldness moon.
I am sailing crestfallen the river of dead…. i walk alone the path of sorrow.
I was cramped into a coffin glass, that it was sealed and rushed to the sea.
I heard my voice sigh; i saw my dead body falling down into a putrid common grave.
I felt a black spectrum was slanting my soul.
In the earth where i lay dead roses will grow....