***

I hear the ringing of chains in the echoes of “for”;

we stand opposite, there is ashes between us,

there's a weekend fire outside;

you come out, you find yourself in a network

my rust-covered hands -

It’s just right to cover the sky with them!

I was shone with the sound of glasses

they offer to drink for us;

I’m walking - I would be head over heels,

I should hit the rough ground!

through the glass your face cuts through cars of faces;

I don't want to see faces anymore!