Where am I? This soul I do not know,
This boredom, the death of this sort,
My wrists open by cuts,
For then no more blood I faint.
This boredom, the death of this sort,
My wrists open by cuts,
For then no more blood I faint.
The body and the spirit very dormant
They can then talk more,
Silent, despersos the dry air,
I find myself reflecting the fallen angels.
And for whom pain and life are so equal,
Do not fear that dreams and nightmares,
They can not kill like me.
They may not even be here again
Someone then listen to my pleas,
And the night will then have a dead end.
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