It’s a dark sign that,
Your eyes draw a breeze,
Which is encircled
In the spasm,
Of my wrath;

It’s a dark sign that,
Your body makes my blood dance,
In the middle,
Of a volcanic torrent;

Faith & Desire cover up my flesh,
And nine-inch nails caress my face,
Whereas Time & Dust are never enough
To fill up such a Blast;

Despite of we are strangers,
To each other;

I’m still being the Storm,
That arises The New Sun,

Whereas thistles & wires will
Never set on
My footstool;

Despite of your image reflects
The absinthe,
In which,
My soul gets his thirst satisfied;

I’m still being the Thunder,
That gets rid of any appearance,

Whereas mud & ashes are
The final result,
Of your assault;

Backbones crawl
Over shallow waters,
And feel a bit of humanity,
By kissing each other,
As slow as they can;

Just a smile of mine can
Reveal such a red Truth,
On the left side!