In the wet frame of these windows, I see a picture of a sad Friday, what a blackness to the tension of the mourning garment, I see heavy tears in his eyes, blood is
dripping from the black cloud, blood drips from the rain on Fridays,
I cant breathe, Fridays dont come, I wish I could close my eyes, this is not coming from me, blood is dripping from the black cloud, blood is dripping from the rain on Fridays,
Fridays life is reaching a thousand years, Fridays are another sadness. A person gets tired of his own hand , he screams with his lips closed, blood
is dripping from the black cloud, blood drips from the rain on Fridays, it is time to leave, the season of
the heart is stabbed in the back, the one who is with me is dripping blood from the black cloud, the blood is dripping from the rain on Fridays.
