Agios Nikolaos (Lagos).

My soul - brass bell the lightest breeze blows her up. And her sounds open my wounds - deep down somewhere. And to the left. With time, it sounds more alarming. It also detects the lightest oscillations of the air. And it becomes impossible only on feasts to sing. The bell grows old with me too and more and more sad it sounds. I hope at least the end remains brass. And not to be silent.