Still lying in bed,
And through the curtains in my room,
The color of air is burning amber.
The very thought,
Lingering in my mind,
But pausing at my lips.
I am haunted by ten thousand souls,
But one lingers.
Blond and built
He looks into me through blackened eyes
And shouts his hatred to the wind
Appearing in every dream,
He loved me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.