When the low whistle of death echoes in my ears

through the walls of fear and agony,

in my torn heart—

Everything scatters in a matter of seconds,

as the lights blow out;

Leaves swirling away in the strong wind—

The ink dries, the pages fly

Away, away, out into the dark emerald woods,

Birds screaming, my heart's thrumming;

As I say to myself:

"The conclusion's not too far!"