Dreary as I am,
dreary as it is,
weary is my head.
Fatigue fills my design.
Yet I find solace in my chambers.
My chambers that are dark,
my chambers that seem cruel.
The night creature's den.
The living zombie's tomb.
I find solace in my rooms.
Celebrate in your streets.
Deplete your bottles 'till you drown.
Fill your memory with nets of white.
But I'm not coming around.
I will seek comfort in my chambers.
Not to be found.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem