• Pardon my English, but where art thy soul?
    Without you my own life can hardly be whole.
    Flowers of red, mountains, sky blue - it seems that this
    is my whole life... Life without you

    Simply, it's madness, not much of a sight.
    With Gypsies and Jewish and Muslims alike.
    It seems that our world is mainly of plight.
    Yet still i do wonder: Why don't i fight?

    My hands soon grow dead - my pen? The same.
    But sometimes I wonder: Will i always feel pain?
    But I will not beg. Nor will I cry. You cannot hold me.
    I will not die!

    As if only I meant this - purely my own
    Would truly I wish for a world of stone?
    Sometimes these people aren't incredibly mean.
    So I really must know: Please, is this a dream?

    It seems that my story has come to an end,
    and still I feel that I must make amends.
    Now, I go, and I hide in my den.
    Just as much so, i bid you good-bye, Friend.