Winds and storms are fleeting,
But I'm bored by the calm.
I'd be better bleeding,
But would be not ice-bound.
I'd be better broken,
Spitted by the thorn,
But would be never woken
By my conscience's horn.
I am on the crossroad,
Nothing know to do.
Want to go abroad
From myself,
Through wound.
The horizon's coming
Through half-opened eye.
Face downward I'm lying.
DON'T WANT TO CRY!