the night grows cold
in the darkest light
the wicked grow bold
the pure give in without a fight
hope is fleeting
light has turned dark
what am i feeling?
this world has left it's mark
in the end, death awaits
our souls pass on
our vessels deteriorate
we sing our swan song
and we eternally understand
our fate
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem