It is not as if you are not seen
I can hear you in this light
In this wind that roars a sad gene
In this sorrow that sees no right
You are this ghost
That cries to the living
The ghost that never will boast
I am the living, the egotistical being
You are the reason
To this chain of sorrow
I am the monster in this cold season
I will never wake until tomorrow
Beautiful flowers
That withers from blades
That rips open my heart from towers
This torment from rades
This soul from the depths of the abyss
These tears of sorrow
That wakes something for us to miss
In this race we follow