Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.
The guilt of newborns is immense.
I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.
Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.
The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.
Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.