It’s a dark sign that,

Your eyes draw a breeze,

Which is encircled

In the spasm,

Of my wrath;

It’s a dark sign that,

Your body makes my blood dance,

In the middle,

Of a volcanic torrent;

Faith & Desire cover up my flesh,

And nine-inch nails caress my face,

Whereas Time & Dust are never enough

To fill up such a Blast;

Despite of we are strangers,

To each other;

 I’m still being the Storm,

That arises The New Sun,

Whereas thistles & wires will

Never set on

My footstool;

Despite of your image reflects

The absinthe,

In which,

My soul gets his thirst satisfied;

I’m still being the Thunder,

That gets rid of any appearance,

Whereas mud & ashes are

The final result,

Of your assault;

Backbones crawl

Over shallow waters,

And feel a bit of humanity,

By kissing each other,

As slow as they can;

Just a smile of mine can

Reveal such a red Truth,

On the left side!