I think I'll go somewhere,
In Alaska's cold I'll settle alone.

I pondered on the fallen angel.

No matter how dark my thoughts are on the essence of the universe,
I love the piercing Cold so much.

Even God grows evil.

I pondered on the fallen angel.

Poetry is not prose!

I'll settle in Alaska.
Black branches, Naked branches.

With anarchist behaviors We turn our backs on all the proud ones -
I thought about virtue, forgiveness -
But no, Even God grows evil.
I love winter, Black branches.

Poetry is not prose!