On the rust colored horizon of the segregation
There are concreate small worlds of you and I
Wishing you let me hear your respiration,
I'm in a gravelike room with bated breath

I desire you in most earnestly
It admits of no question
The gray walls cut off me from you coldly

It will be soon that I see
Rotten blue mosses to grew,
Urine stinky mosses to grew,
On the old walls which fixed about me.

Also it is certain that my mind
Will be full of the dead mottles.
As I'll corrupt in without taking your sound

Ah me! Try now to thrust out with my fist!
If I would touch you I should do it.
Ah me! Don't stick to myself, now for it!
I know the walls are of cowardly my heart