In haste I wait for all of time to break,
The hopes of life has lost its tyrant race,
When all the world has gone to trial steak,
The dreams all drifted to the cramped space.

The wood in the pew that rests all alone,
The speech of the priest, who sings through the breeze,
Black painted clothes that kneel on the stone,
The corpse in my view, just lying in trees.

A silent wish that relaxes my mind,
Dark contemplation of who shall cry,
The hatred, the ghoul, who was never kind,
His soul will replace, in pines he will lie.

His scowling tongue, as he says goodbye,
Avenge, avenge, my son should not have died.