Each day I die clandestinely but the universe is spying me on for masking the ashes grey ruins of my soul awake and those bits of life as reals as apprehended the ones i structure... the return for a question of resurrection i come back in the d**h's placing in where i am dead another time i'm only lignt and tumult another time i'm just shadow and silence otherwise i emerge again from an old stagnation I is the end cold is the hand of d**h when she is exorting you to follow her in the deepest foundations of the revolt i is the end of a deadly world my friend you will see one drowsy life at her last breath in her torment d**h grasps the spine of life breaking of her icy fingers the bones of self respect... respect... respect cold is the hand of d**h when she do the work for you in front of the glance of the warder's surrender suicide the end i want this end she gives her hands and i is the end