The stone is broken in thousands of pieces,
On the wild narrow street is fog and cold;
My look stoped to your home, among beams,
The memories and the dense rain in my soul are grasped.

I hardly try again to quick my steps
But they don't want to listen me.
I throw in the invisible precipice
The fog surrounds me and my body is cold .

A shout from deep of my beings
Whips my body and says to raise.
But the life without You is a blind ache,
A wild tear which doesn't want to be lost.