Tu, meum dolorem

How old is your favourite sin,

Thinking at what I could be

And how much should I trust in you

To understand the way you are?


One row from your own chapter of lies

I will rewrite them in an ironically poetry

Even with the price of my guardian angel death

To remove the violence from your heart.


No good, no more faith changing

I will be the same to all of you

I will dig in your soul with the  tears of death

I will made your grave

with the thorns of roses growed from your lies

I will feed the starved worms with the venom of your eyes

And slowly giving you to them,

to satisfy your even oldest sin

in front of my eyes.