It was raining with pain from above
and dews of blood are seeping,
on the windows, houses and asphalt
putting out the fire of life feeling.
from the branches of the oaks from the hill
on a string dead cold bodies are hanging,
down are staying the trails of hope
and in the sky,the last sunset is shining.
and the burned out trees, full of ashes,
are waving in the cold wind alone,
they reopen the door for a moment
and let the soul to go home...
all that is left now is empty,
on the river,the willow is dying,
on the streets the life dead lost feeling
and on the grass the dews of blood crying.