Head is like a slashed tree trunk,
Continuously hit hard by a hammer,
Hammer, not of wood, neither of iron
It's made of bitter truths and lies, with honor
An antique design carved out by fake hopes and fantasies
Owned by my friends, this hammer is beautifully ornated with probabilities
Oh, friends! stop tearing me! stop crushing me!
It hurts.

The spine is like an obsolete wall,
Continuously hit by drill machines and rivets
It is done by labors, neither by my foes
Oh, friends! pardon me if I pause
Hesitated by their rage, halted by loyalty to that castle
I standstill and deadlocked my existence, but
Oh, friends! stop tearing me! Stop crushing me!
It hurts.

Eyes are burning like impotent oak wood in a chimney
Conspicuously smoldering and relishing the art of pyrogravure
Quietly dumbfound the hidden talent of my beloved
Oh! you're knackered with the astonishing art of betraying, but
Oh, friends! stop tearing me! Stop crushing me!
It hurts.
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