I pray my hand slips on the wheel,
To relieve myself, to die.
My world would not miss me.
My world would not cry.
The gates of the soul
Refuse the river's flow.
Yet this vein of sorrow
Holds tight to the chest.
My religion is false;
My god has left.
Alone I traverse this valley of the shadow of death,
Consumed in a state of relentless unrest.
I said I'd walk through Hell for you,
So here I am, my soles burned through.
No need to release the wheel after all:
I'm already dead inside;
I lost it all.