---

At last, you are done with this

oh, modern and new brave world.

You traveller, you lost soul

at the end of times.

There is something that is burning,

and my nerves do nothing.

There is something that is burning,

and my nerves do nothing but crawl on the floor.

My little friend,

there is war outside

and my nerves do nothing

but crawl

like those black snakes

you once told me about,

that only in dreams

you have seen.

I would like to say

this is not our end,

but now I'm here

in the middle of the mist.

And to see the things

that would rather be

remain unseen:

an entire world burning now/down.

I have seen the dead,

I have seen destruction,

my wounds whose blood falls down

to the infinite.

Everything is nothing.

There is something that is burning,

and my nerves do nothing.

There is something that is burning.

May it not be us.

And oh, winter.

Days with no sun

may never stop...

...how the flowers bloom;

to see those leaves fall.

And who, if I scream, would hear me now

among the angels?

And who would hold me near their chest,

for beauty is terror?