on the bank, of the shallow crimson lake
where the footprints of past appear at night,
the sands cry blood tears with him, for his sake,

forlorn blossoms grow there, for him to take,
to let them flow in waters, in his sight
on the bank of the shallow crimson lake,

where, her existence, he would carve, and make
his pain glow in the long day’s last light,
sands crying blood tears beneath him, for his sake,

the monotonous routine, he can’t break,
his wild saggy face seems to him just right,
on the bank, of the shallow crimson lake,

he crawls, leaving his trail, of a weak snake,
tired of loss and living, he can not fight
sands crying blood tears, beneath him, for his sake,

he capitulates, no longer forsake
emptiness of darkness, so very quiet
on the bank, of the shallow crimson lake,
where sands cry blood tears, with him, for his sake