These faces so tired and pale
Were shaped with birches,
Indocile but doomed to resist,
To overcome the pain of loss
These eyes lose their colours,
Showing nothing except shame,
They have never looked at the sun
That is too blind to understand
These lips whisper the only
Names forsaken in the depths of time,
They confront splendid illusions,
But they are not able to utter a prophecy

Surrounded by darkness
Absorbed by madness
Just moments
Just fragments

When a list thread is torn,
When a last page is turned,
When a last exhale calmes,
A heart stops beating paralyzed

Depressed with nonsense of remorse,
We ever must pay twice
Trampling flowers growing
With the sickly-sweet smell of grief
Epitaphs as secrets betrayed
On monuments of compassion
Absurdly try to describe pain
Where echoes of the past walk