pulsating ray short shutters of hatred ritual dance of shadow gestures
Lodge of scoffers, tangled hands
humiliation, blooming on the breasts like a weed
transfused on the paper, the makes endless marches of
twisted and sick gestures, insane shapes
Evil, diminished to the measure of a tear in our might, small as the empty words
madmen on the sock of glory'n'tradition darkness will come, bringin' the relief
I won't see the face of god when he'll come with bowed head
legs in the slime of dirty life left in own hopelessness
on the armchair of illusions I will submit the sentence
I'll stay the moon saving the cadaverous light
on the violet fields of extinction
