first created tragedy of a music book

When the echo will fill emptiness
Plunge through lines
In despondency of those phrases
Written on these lines
In your first and last epitaph
Created many years ago
And never be played

Two-voices song
Capable to destroy thousand
Under weight of ashes and a dust
And remains untouched and hollow
Until then while you will not cease to breathe
Being illed by this gloomy world
Filled with snow

Not to turn any more back
Not to dig out all steps of itself
Your last spring
Having dispelled a white hell
Will burn to edges
All notes of your first letter