In the evening sadness comes and stands by the door, his face br Is hidden, from the dying sun he took some colors and painted his body br The sadness comes in the evening, br I stretched my hand and he caught my wrist, in an iron-hard clasp br He caught me out from my room, his face br Is black, he is ahead of me and I follow him br I crossed from the evening to the night, from the night to the dawn, then the morning, the noon, the day, the month br Crossing water, tree, boat, city, hill br Crossing blows, stumbling, poison, suspicions, jealousy, graves, genocide, the bones and ribs of civilization, swamp and grass br Then crossing my own death, death after death, going on and on br The bony fingers holding nothing but a pen br Nothing...