Inner grief, pulling away the light walling of humanity,
is burning the belief in the world to ashes and is burying existence.
In the bitter melancholy is lifting up the chalice full of blood
and sprinkles the tombs of dead shadows.
The life must feather away into an eternal dream,
from where the sails of dark nightly crises brings a gust of a safety.
The moonlight and the darkness seen through the dried-up trees are the symbol of despair,
that is ruling the waste land of the none-profane dream.
Bluish ways of the dreamy distances,
black tangle of the spinous labyrinth
and a concrete illuminated by the city lamps.
Eternal distance drowning in the whorl of dizziness.