A rain for hundred years
A wellington in wet and salty sand
My eyes have stopped on rusty april skies
The raving vasted by the flesh of fire
The rings of grief are sticked with cheerful laugh

A rain for hundred years
The abyss of the spring is full of dreams
The earliest mouthful of the greatest grief
The april nails are rusting by the wall
As though beyond the wall the flowers grow
With facsinating glimmer glint and glow

A rain for hundred years
The hundred years've been passed, the meal is cooked
Of soapy bubbles born the wettest day
Of skeletons of poems understood
Of memories dissolved in soles of boots
So salty with the crystall of the fire

A rain for hundred years
The words are moving on the quietest stripe
The leaves are falling stopping in the slide
The sentence carried out is last by one
All april dues are printed on the stone
All april dreams above ice-hold go on