Thoughts are fogged by lovesick memories.
A man stained her heart with hope.
Creating a homesickness feeling
grow inside her.
The fire inside is starting to die out.
From coal to ashes
and dust to dust
love is once again put away.
Aging, aching, and agnozing
spinning, alone around a stake.
With a demon beside her
her ryhthem still speaks the language of lust.
Stepping down off her stage set
Everyone grabs for a piece
These hands she feeds, but they don't know
they statisfy her, too.
Fasades are just devils in disguise
foolishly playing you.
Acceptingly, she slides on her mask.
Hell is easier when you're not so stubborn.
Hope will forever rest on her back.
But devils will forever play
in the fire that burns inside her.
Dust doesn't collect there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem