My wings are tired,
My limbs are shaking,
My soul has grown old,

My dreams are fading,
My vision is blurring,
My wishes have gone,

May be this is the time.
May be this is the moment,
May be I can't be in this battle anymore.

To rest my self, to put down the pen.
To rest my cells, to cut down the thoughts.
To burn those shredded wings,
To turn them into ashes.

In another fall hope of arising of that
Phoenix.