I want to cry and weep,
Hate the world and streets.
Find the direction spread,
Filled with humorous cracks.
Tears provoke me again,
Becomes the second shelly.
Feed me in the blossom,
I request my lord.
Your creations mockut,
For thy loveliest child,
Metiril of pride and anger.
Make me colorful ashes,
Buried, no burn makes me immortal,
Under of horiziner of sky.