I thought that the heart made of stone,
That itís fully empty and dead:
Though fire in it had been thrown,
Itís not damaged or just upset.
And thatís right: it was not tormented,
Ifpainful, then only a bit,
But, yet, it is better to end it,
Put out, while you can do it...
The heart is in darkness entire,
Iíve known: the victoryís mine
At last, we extinguished the fire...
And, yet, in a smoke I die.