I saw your trace, on wet soils of empty graves. I wanted you for me, but you belong to all... A rooster used to wake you up, now slaughtered bleeding in your hand, it seems to be a brilliant feast for your keen appetite. Your answers to my questions, feeble, pitiful evasions, A truth living the day has bitten a nightmare through haze, which left a trace on empty graves... I wanted you for me, but you belong to all...