Once a man built a large and grotesque wall
Of cracked stones, dead hopes and [bad word] limbs.
He wanted it to protect himself against a deep growl
Of a storm carrying remorse and memories of sins.
Below the faded sun, he spent his entire lifetime
In hiding from any [bad word]  in masking his crime
In an attempt to castrate his already less flesh,
Blindly fleeing from any recollection of thresh.

Thus this pathetic living corpse was joined
By other insipid souls in this work for them purloined.
And generations massively adopted the habit
Instituted by this mad man drowning in his vomit.
Gathered they were, each saying no to life
With such ignorance, overabundant and rife,
But still firmly meaning what they could only ignore
Chained themselves under a sky to love and implore.

But what can he, who has not pierced eyes, do
When he discovers such a wretched view:
Impotent armies of degenerated and naked warriors
Brandishing a banner where it is with gold thread knitted "ERROR".

There were so many of them at the bottom of the wall
That even in one hundred years you couldn't count them all
Though weak, their number was doing that one man alone
Couldn't make them fall and destroy their throne.

Giving up all phantasms of grandeur, there is no boiling war to be declared;
Just frozen and wild fancies, orgasmic visions of [bad word] traitors immolated.
Glaring at nothing but my own rage, feeding from my overwhelming hate
Without melancholy but fury, I collapse in my engrieved fate.
Of the two available roads one leads to starvation, and the other one to prostitution.
The first one embraced me, as I choose death and self-abnegation.
Now the memories of their distorted faces is slowly fading away,
Even refusing to follow me as I sink into merciless dismay.