The dim grey dawn resets the counter of days.
Weak pale gleam highlights [bad word] that used to be our homes.
The cold gust carries a piece of newspaper
That lied about our future pushing us to the abyss.

Dry black flakes of ashes covers skeletons
Without faces throwing out the bitter of lost hope.
We believed in holiness of our sins
When we hammered last nail in the coffin of our world.

No one will regret the time of light-heartedness,
The possibility of seeing the next day,
Because there is no one alive
In the new world that we’ve lost.