Our soul is empty

Who knows about us, and how our days and hours have been eaten by wolves, who knows where the days and wounds have taken us, and how bad luck has devoured our way, there is no way for us, Laith, and our soul is emptied of us.

So then, none of us loves the universe, they scratch death, and pray that they do not die, so do you, Laith, you go with your soul away, to the sea trying to drown it and sometimes revive it, but you also try to keep your body well-groomed, no scratch and no wear the crime.

Who knows about us, and I fear you so much, I am no longer tempted by your fields of wheat, and everything you do with your own hands for me is no longer tempted.
For my sake only, your wolf ate my days, my days only, where I bled until there was not even a single day left, in which I could die in peace.