I think I will rot.
Maybe I will not.
There isn't any air,
My head feels hot.

I would like to ask,
Do you feel as lonely as I?
In melancholy we shall bask,
Quietly contemplating under a gray sky.

I feel like singing.
My heartbeat is stinging.
The dull mirth fading,
My subtle song thinning.

I would like to ask,
Do you feel as quiet as I?
In burnt kerosene we shall bask,
Quietly suffering until we die.