With the grinding of pain viscous veins are filled.
My body worn out.
In a chase for the past my hands I excised.
On jagged cliffs, on the names left behind.
 [bad word] to find all that I could't take.
But the knifes of the sun, have blinded my eyes.
Dead I fell on the ground.
From charred cliffs tumbled down.

Lying, fading away.
Enslaved I look up at the skies.
Of the smothering mourning.
For that, whith could not hold on to.
For the faces in reminiscence.
And the time I couldn't grasp, with my hands.