There are four walls, that entrap

But not my eyes, nor my head

In the dusky world they trap

But one heart, long left dead.

 

And between a light shines

Mostly grief it pale sheds

Searing eyes, mostly blind

With the scent of the dead.

 

The air here is old and fusty,

Like the one in misty moor

Vizen flowers, and hands dusty

Makes the sunlight seem so poor.

 

While the shadows on walls creep

Aptly dancing playes of sleep

Inside my grave, where I used to dream

Reckoning cognition of my present being.

 

And so it came to be...

pretpostavljam da je ovo, kao i druge stvari koje si sad pre koji dan postavio, iz ranijeg perioda tvog vrlog zivota?

jes, mog VRLOG zivota...