I’m writing mute runes by the rain from veins,
Drops are accumulating on broken glass,
With covetousness the king of shadows swallows up
Untouched strings of my soul.

I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout,
But loosing strength you beat your foreheads
Against the wall of tears with silent entreaties
And damn my Dream so strainedly.

The warmth of your hands doesn’t come to me
And looks don’t prophesy me salvation,
The mute runes are hurriedly dashing off
By nocturnal sun’s deadly beams.

From of old they considered Despondency a sin -
Those, who wrote the Book of the Books.
Repress your mendacious sorrows,
My wish for freedom is sacred.

I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout,
But loosing strength you beat your foreheads
Against the wall of tears with silent entreaties
And damn my Dream so strainedly.

I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout
I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout
I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout
I don’t hear you and there’s no need to shout

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