LAST CYCLE © 2008
On the piano keys, fingerprints remain,
Insane traces of blood, in uneven notes.
The clamor of life fades in the melodies,
But chaos persists in each treacherous sound.
No matter how one sings in simple tone,
There are always those who startle, who howl like a bitch.
In the despair of lament, in the shadows of pain,
Where the melody is overcome by the colourless scream.
The piano weeps, echoing insanity,
Each touch is a trace of cruel truth.
And so, the music tries to soothe the heart,
But there are those who turn it all into pure anguish.