My hand's freezing  
and out of dried blue veins
and long violet veins in my slender wrists,

My iris' whitening as snow as shaping  a diamond on its own,
Yet my heart's still beating its dried pains that wouldst heal anymore,

Becease someday I'll die,
my divine Lord,
beyond the summer vivid's smokes turned into winter.

Beyond an angel crying beautifully on my grave.
When I pass away,
put an angel on my grave,
Lest the vines overflow,
coverin' my headstone.

Place me somewhere in the night-nyx with silent air  
and glowy cold smokes,
Surrounded by hazel trees,
to my corpse can slowly wither away

As if I once was a faded memory,  Someday, thou can visit me on my grave with a smile peacefully without saying goodbye.

— candychristian, 1968