I have the wind going against my motion, 

I am going to gather every lovers under the hill; in the smoggy woods. 

The bonfire will give blood to our gray joints…

And we will make a portal of immovable streams out of it. 

Sweat in our hair and sold evenings in our eyes…

We are lovers…we are lovers without the presence of a human body. 

I am gaining stones out of this gatherings…

I am moving corrupted affairs towards the trench, 

and I know I will have it somewhere on that hill. 

I am making a war out of this windy acceleration of my madness.