Too many wish to see others stumble.
To crumble as if it is predicted.
Addicted and wicked this sickness is.
And those who cherish this as their existence,
Parish...
Like a falling star losing light,
The Sun refuses to follow...
Or trace its path,
As it falls to be forgotten...
Into an eternity of darkness.
Swallowed in a cosmic hold!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem