The mate of the mantle
Related to the royal clown
Ample amputated jest
Dead in the spirit of forlorn kingdom
The glory is lost.

Bear the marks on the wall,
As witness to this land,
The fish feels hot,
In the belly of the sea.
The birds wings hurt

Hanged in the mid of minor
Thrown away for the beauty
Of the bearded pang.
The rain has stopped
The sun is hidden

In fact, the weather is lost
Save me, as I look and lack tears,
Wishes of the morrow past yesterday,
For I find the pit to bury the hope,
In the gold palace of the president.

Hurray!
good news to home,
To the end of the beautiful ruins,
Crafts of a good craftsmanship, yawns
Wake me when the world starts afresh.