When daily I heed up to those hills,

I hear, every time I bleed, these birds:

The Ravens. The ones that scream the cries.

The ones that we cannot seek with eyes…

But with the pain… they come to stay besides

Our hopes. And make them last.

When at night I look to these stars,

Outcast scars… The ones that scream the lies,

The mortal life becomes immortal.

How an irony becomes so clear?

How do we fall in, or disappear?

The Heavens won’t ever… reach our fear,

Our distant hopes… or the Raven’s Hope.

Yet we disgrace these birds – the Ravens

But they do not symbolize remorse!

But when we look at them…

When we really try to find them,

Only they can find us…

Now the irony becomes our fear

And if we’re falling and disappear…

The Heavens still won’t ever reach for our fear…