This world's not my place:

This living world of doubt and misery.

As this heart grows louder,

a harder silence.

A complete new city grows in this heart;

numerous words seep through.

This world can never know

until the sad pattern of late sun

on the gray floor

will vanish before choking my breath,

and death will erase the colours

of all of my pain.

The sky will remain coloured,

the cool scent of wildflowers:

A thousand years passing by,

the silent death of a quiet heart—

so undoubtedly blank in grief.