Alarga en la pradera una pausada sombra, pero ya el hecho de nombrarlo y de conjeturar su circunstancia, lo hace ficción del arte, y no criatura viviente de las que andan por la tierra

Resentment fills the cage I locked myself in

Beckon the demons to take hold, an admission of guilt

A slow shadow burns through my bones

No will to leave, no one to blame

I am the inmate and the judge

I built the cell and burned the key

I am a violet under glass

Withered and choking on display

Retching, wilting, I'm burning

The shadow spreads on, consuming us all

Retch, wilt, burn through my fucking bones

I resign to you