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As I look around
and everything turns blue
(it's the noon's fault, bringing death
to this cold-freeze day)
I begin to wonder. I'm asking.
Are you looking for me?
Or I'm just waiting for somebody?
There is a creepy scent
that comes from beneath my skin.
That's what your love left
when you walked away.

There's no grief in Earth
like the one of a dying vassal
that has been hurt
with the slings of betrayal.
Ah, love indeed
provides an adorable sight to us;
but what happens, my dear,
when you have a rotten soul?
It's funny to see you breathing
heavily, as you try to live.

And it's more beautiful to my sins
to watch you die by in my hands,
shivering cold, losing a whisper,
looking into my eyes as a plea.