More than beyond, remains the seed of beneath;
Leaves and thorns arguing for supremacy
over faded brows…

Round and around, years and lives,
marching over worn-out hopes of honey fields
and rivers of breast-milk…

Every morning the pilary cloud
brings me to yesterday’s cooling coals…

What have I done, thou fiery witness?
What have I said, you mountain of smoke?

Is it my misery, my dreams, the colourful garment
I had to weave myself of visions…
Is it the heart, the love, the passion my dismay?

Have I oh, hit the rock you may have laid for prayer,
have I said something in my room of mourn?

You killed me, yet alive I dare to ask you,
would you remember David,
before I’m left in wrong?

It’s cold in here above my pile of ashes,
my wounds are too many to scratch,
would you remember me before tomorrow,
before the prey turns slowly into catch?