The wall is cold and made of brick
In the corner, where I sit
No more light from the candle I lit
In the corner, where I sit
It's too dark conquer it
In the corner, where I sit
Too cold to feel my finger tips
In the corner, where I sit
I feel death consume me a bit
In the corner, where I sit
Death has come, I felt it hit
In the corner…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem