If you take away my literature,

Might as well shoot me in the head.

As I will not live as a caricature

Or somebody empty as I said.

If you take away my writing,

There will be just dust in my soul

You will hear howls and gritting

You voice will echo in my empty hall.

You see,

There nothing much to see

Walls of letters

Paper litters

But know that what you see

Brings me glee

This is my core

My immortal lore.