In the hands,
in the arms,
wounds that cannot be fully healed;
Wounds that open a brutal
blood river,
That flows of me,
for one day scape for real...
Confusion and foolishness in the
last night make the dark and
calm night be a
war field;
Everybody screams,
and discuss non-sense discussions,
only to sick me up...
Tired of all this things;
Peace is nothing but a word without address.
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