This dreary darkened sky
in which I float benumbed
into my Enola [bad word] filled with ambitions failed

And when it will collide with the towers of madness
I'll fall off to the ground
hope will flow out from my wounds
some unfit dog shall spill a tear of grief

Far at east, by the silky way
the mirage of a forgotten town rescues me
in storms religions lost and empty sanctuaries
I let my body being slowly buries along other fools

To the silence we belong,
and the silence in this wilderness throve
the Via [bad word] across the Dead Sea
then caught in Samarkand bazaar dream

No, don't search for me at North
where the nonsense of my frenzied notes lead
as now I am the Czar

In sleep I spread my veils
as day is much too harsh to sail
while dream are bright and manifold