A glowing darkness, full of thoughts
Rolls slowly down the slope of comprehension
Gathering dust and stones, and other debris
And smashes against ice walls of Solitude
Collected anguish, pain, disenchantment and pain
Will not ever let a wandering darkness pass
Fever rises from the kettle on the stove
The brow is wet with condensation of disconsolation
Something is broken that I cannot put back again
Yet, I have collected every piece in string-drawn pouches
Now can I collect shadows and moments
And peel the dusty years off time and truth
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