In the loneliness of a gloomy night,
men and women sit by themselves.
They are close, but they don’t talk
darkened in their souls
wicked in their mind.
Not even the spiritous inebriation
relieves those hearts full of pain
from their fear of the mishmash of the world.
The nighthawks wander fearful
walking up and down
they pass by the life,
they would like to hold on to it,
they howl busting into tears of despair.
But the harshness of the human nature
can’t stand their whimsy,
and flush them in the non-existence.