What moon would you be looking at?
You, who already know the weight of failure, better keep silent.
Even if love escapes us, don't waste your tears.
At this end of the day, where you get along with the birds that fear the night.

Trapped between the beginning and the end of the journey,
you soak your pillow with a cry as ephemeral as foam.
I guess peace is that treasure we simply cannot reach,
barely a sip of water for an eternal thirst.

The heart you gave to violence hurts.
I feel everything slipping away and burning.
What are these drops that overflowed from my eyes?

It is the flame of confusion, a white poison that clouds the air.
A dance of lights that surrounds us on both flanks.
We beckon with our hands for a tomorrow we know won't come,
in this cycle of compensations where only a funeral awaits us.

From the horizon, news travels a thousand leagues.
"Do you really think you can resist fate?"
What remained tied to the tip of that branch,
is the calm of one who sows a seed and sits down to wait.
Whose body is that lying fallen?

My own reason, wild, silences the mockery of others.
Enough! Don't keep tearing at the wounds...

Do you hear that melody that breaks your throat every night?
If in the next life I must apologize for my arrogance, so be it.
"—Stop fighting, little one, and surrender to the eternal cycle—"

What moon would you be looking at?
It's almost pathetic... to see my eyelids falter before reality.
Let's say goodbye now, and please, don't cry anymore.
We are just changing form; it's time to shed the skin we know.

Let us witness this first act of the tragedy.
Beyond the mountain, a thread of hope still glimmers.
What do we have left, besides never giving up?

It was I myself who started this fire in my chest.
And even if they try to stop me, the current will keep flowing.
My loyalty has deformed me, but I don't care about the pain.
Hey, jester! Your song is not music... it's just a lament.