Although I was a virgin, my soul is pregnant.

I am dressed dark the same as crows

My eyes are weeping blood

And they are pouring on the dried flowers.

My thoughts are vomiting corruption, destruction and seduction.

Here is the dead lock

The world, the devil and the flesh will rebirth soon.

I’m wondering why the prostitutes solicit recklessly in the street?

The men were busily sucking their own blood as wampires

And the stream is replete with aborted child.

Who cares about the end?

Cause here is the dead end

You know what?

French love is the fame

And true love is the shame

I’m whispering carelessly while standing on your grave stone.

I donna whether to forgive you or give it up?

To curse you or shut the matter up?

The wind is blowing in the cemetery

And your silence is only witnessed what I have been suffered all these long days.

I can do nothing

Only can touch your cold grave and confess…

Still you are the one I loved.