Hand me my weapon,
Give me my blade.
Let me relieve,
All this sadness and pain.

The color red looks nice on my arms,
But don't be afraid, it won't cause any harm.

Hand me my weapon,
Give me my gun.
Let me pull the trigger,
And my life will be done.

Pass me the rope,
Pass me the rope.
Let me tie myself,
So i can choke.

You say i won't,
And i say "let's see".
You'll be proved wrong,
By the quick death of me.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.