Billions of the silvery grains
On the bottom of the black ocean.
Their infinity is but a vague intellect.
An abyss is his hands. far from the house of black souls
To fly and grasp the eternity. night, as a death of the
Poison sucking the liquids of life.
Black flame in the veins, crushed in the dead ravines.
Nebular horizon would spread its wings,
Burnt feathers would fall out as a blackest rain.
Fly high, the bird of death and beginning of the new