I found a pretty apple tree and dug myself a grave,
In it I've left my body, words and a sad mind,
All those things in life to whom I were a slave,
All will in the end be gladly left behind.
On every face I see, the same old tired smile,
That always hides a riddle, a story or a myth,
Always full of secrets, always full of lies,
That turn around the smoke o'er the fire pits.
Through rainy eyes I see the dawning of the day,
I admire sun in its morning glory,
I feel its healing beams carrying me away,
And the final darkness- the end of my story.
I picked a snow white flower, and saw in it my death,
In every petal written the end to my pain,
I've crossed this cursed field the path to my last breath,
My soul thus has left me in the light of day.
I found a pretty apple tree and dug myself a grave.
