I had a gloomy tale to tell
There were two in the tower
In the edge of madness and outbreak
They had coffins in their mouths, weak voices in their minds.
They were trying to still aim something, to reach that despicable coverage of hope, remaining in their broken hearts and souls.
They were clinging really hard, really desperate. They were almost falling, but still stretching.
And so we do ask:
Why?
Why is it so vital to fight for dying things?
What is that precious quality contained in arms and eyes and hairs?
What is it that still make you cry even when you discovered how useless tears can be.
And in this empty room we widow
And in this empty room we sorrow
And yet
They cling onto each other,
Because such a sad persisting effort hope is.
