I feel so lonesome, bitterly alone...
More desolate than being really sole...
I have embrace in which I fall - 
Our hearts don`t beat in unison...

It`s always been a monologue before,
And easily has flown my soul`s song...
But now I am our orchestra`s sold whore
You cannot hear me to take the proper tone.

The frail violin of my heart is crying,
But you don`t strike the rights strings,
I shout hoarse myself in quiet,
But no reminiscence it brings.