I'm close to the deepest dream.
I quiver by light.
Rays as continuous flame shake my limbs.
I'm sick, I'm sick.
I'm devouring the world,
turning it over in my bloodless arms.
I'll take it away from you.
The flight will be long, far from the sun.
It will be cold there.
I'll be the one who cover you with wings,
with my burning weeping.
I'll give you warmth again,
I'll raise your worn-out body
from the muddy ground.
That idiot glimmer does not deserve you.
I will heal your wounds.
Deep cuts, in which the frost comes,
day after day looking for your death.
No, time will not have you.
No grey room
no surgery,
will waste your beauty.
