I'll go away one day, you know.
And I want to take as a reminiscence.
A fragment of your kiss on my lips,
Perhaps a hug, or an embrace ...
A long time ago, while I wrote poetry
My hand involuntarily would create grief and pain.
Through all my verses, through my stanzas,
Wings of solitude had taken place.
The silence of the lambs is unbearable.
They seem confused; more rather, mystified.
One would think that they're relishing on this gruesome anarchism,
This horrible chaos that is unveiling its dark intrigue.
Tonight I saw tears running down from the Moon.
You might think I am crazy,
Or that I daydream hazy in the middle of the night.