Misty misty wind,
flying without wings,
take my hollow soul,
where blood is never cold,
guns are never born,
loved ones forever home...
Fiery furious pain,
running through my veins,
searching for the love,
forever lost in vain,
yet storming in my head,
the vision of deadly pain...
Tears nor blood left in my heart,
coz the happiness of my life was torn apart,
pure little hearts,
were killed by bloody darts,
which came out of the dark,
to kill the sun of the vast...
Stories of the dead,
talks to the rest,
'giving our lives,
has made it a mess...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem