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