Beyond this peircing pain,
Of cutting my vein,
What can I do? ,
Besides loving you.
A little more I get weaker,
Pouring his blood in a beaker.
the drinking of blood makes me stronger,
What I've wanted takes longer.
Love is what I'm far from,
Hating you until it is done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem