I trampled upon the roasted desert dusts,
From the paragon world I was repudiated,
My age tore fame and depleted the lust
These rusted joints traduced my traipse.
Disowned,this is my mendicant soul
I march onto the barren land of Siberia
Shod the calluses that bond my soles
And feel no pain on the fierce dusts.
I'm a marching domestic,back then a star
No wealth,no fortune,ousted to recover
These granules of bloodshed dashed my eyes
Alone,this is the place that waits me moulder.