with my right fisted hand I kept a dairy;
I hit and hit, and hit some more, the other hand!
the death that walks upon my soul has given me the anger,
the anger that punches hearts and that closes my windows
the anger with it habits of drinking is here;
if I shall find you, it isn’t I who dreams;
it must be some lost soul who with every desire to live,
Oh! let thunder and fire cover your name;
let one thousand memory cells die;
and let not a single drop of your soul,
not a single one, upon mine!
It is the anger of knowing that I love
you and I cannot have you…