If you would so kindly agree
'My Lord', as to quick help me,
Because I don't know why,
But I feel, as if I'm at my last sigh.
These piles of papers,
Countless of thousands of letters,
Which I inscribe in my Book of Life
Make a reason so to strife and so, to keep alive.
Me and death are like friends,
We both back-stab each other till it ends;
We fight to the death,
My friend, I'm afraid that I'm just wasting my breath.
I need an answer
For I don't want to let go of her,
I don't want to lose my life
For I love her and want to make her my wife.
So could you please hear me
'My Lord', may you have pity,
To this prophecy you gave birth
And now, It wants to roam the earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem