Within the nucleated weed of disarray,

All night long I wonder wider,

Where will my next love come from?

Who will put my tears into good use?

Where will I hide my desolation

When the morning approaches?

They say tomorrow is unpredictable,

But will I be punished for predicting my own

Inundation of longing and yearning for love.

I wonder if every huger has turned to wind,

Is this void only screaming in my own ears?

Is it my only tympanum that is,

Banged by my heart’s wave of scream?

I probably don’t make sense,

Of course my brain is enervated!

And I am worn out.