Like a whirlwind from the land of autumn
I have death in my arms
I'm afraid of those horrible eyes in the
mirror
I don't know who I am, I'm just fighting with myself
They made this life my awkward patch
How beautiful it will be when I rise
from myself
Pray for me, my mother To
sing the song of death to the ears of the night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem