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.