Can’t you see the skin peeling,

Can’t you see the blood,

The hair like autumn leaves,

That no more in spring bud,

Eaten by the worms,

My feet still stick to this bog,

To kiss whose mud,

I ransacked my hearth;

Where, just, the woods burnt;

For you.

A thousand days have passed,

A million hours are done,

Rocks under have softened,

But you’re still to come.

A hundred wishes have washed,

A thousand hopes are done,

A million dreams have dried,

Like a resin in the sun.

Neither touch nor warmth,

Does my tired skin long,

A look of my ugly face,

For a moment,

Would you endure?

Why? Because I still stick,

Like a thirsty leech,

Old and weak.

To your bloodless lips,

Knowing that,

A thousand days have passed,

A million hours are done,

Rocks under have softened,

But you’re still to come.

A hundred wishes have washed,

A thousand hopes are done,

A million dreams have dried,

Like a resin in the sun.