Neither power no ache is left.
The soul has been motheaten by yearning.
Everything's going to the dogs, not for the first time,
And sense of friendly phrases equals to zero.
Everything's given to someone, lost, sold,
The heart, dressed with blood, has been served for dinner.
There's only dirt left on the very bottom of the pocket
And some feeling kind of hope.
She can hear steps, they fade out.
He became a crain bird and will live somewhere higher.
She waits him no more, she has forgiven, she's crying
Being fooled by hope.
Time goes by silently and naive lie
Tries on its knive to the left hand.
There's been hope, hope's been vain,
It's trickling down onto the floor with red viscous liquid.
You are alone from the beginning, but even if you have a fiend,
He won't be able to see all your misfortunes on the flat of your hand.
He won't become braver if you are struck dumb,
He won't be able to voice what you haven't said.
He can only help if something goes wrong,
When your eyes are blinded by gloom of despair,
When tears divide your face into three parts,
And when there's no hope for yourself.
Hope is self-deception, but that's all we have.
It goes the rounds, selling its honour.
This deceitful bitch only obfuscates,
Disappearing when it's so much needed.
It will leave and return many times,
Always keeping at a distance the desired diamond.
I am hopelessly killed, shot by yearning,
Because i hoped but was not sure.