To the cross, my voice is crucified, O friend, do not think that I am defeated, O friend of my self-honor, if it became a cage, I would not submit to silence, now I will go without a shroud, when it was a sin, like seeing or hearing the meaning of singing, this was the end of the dead-end, shouting, when even in solitude there was the thought of the freedom of the cage , we would say what we would say, if there was a chance for a breath, I would say the sin of crying with a crime , if I was afraid on the cross. I lost my self-honor, my cage, I did not submit to silence so that I would not die without a shroud, in the nights of silence, my cry was at the bottom of the forest, the dream of waking up, from the sunset of fear to the promised morning, the blade of Khalils anger on the heart of Nimrod, lost in the torment of thirst, my regret, the smell of wheat on my heart, the heat of the anemone from the bitter torment of the people from the one who cast the shadow of my nights, like a misfortune, I asked a simple question, my hatred became a complaint.
