Nightime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses. Slowly, gently, night
No one would listen No one but her Heard as the outcast hears. Shamed into solitude Shunned by the multitude I learned to listen In my dark, my heart
She took my pitiful state of being, When my dark inhabbitance... consumed this cell of mine, When did my soul loose hope? For I alone knew it's persuite
ترجمه: جرارد باتلر. نقطه بدون بازگشت.
