the wind is spiraling
the wind is spiraling

it is the rage
which has no object
the indignation
which cannot spread
is spiraling

the tempest is
scattering
the hell is
sparkling
under my skin

I am waiting for the thunder
I am waiting
to become the spiral
to shiver
and to sparkle

but the spiral is
withering within
and all my devils are
hymning to the wind

when will I learn
the hell
is me
and the devils
are mine