Someday you will wake up in the depth of the night Anguished, tormented and helpless but wondering why It’s the torturing void of your miserable existence The silliness of your life, the uselessness of your acts All working over your mind and filling you with fear
Someday you will realize at the end of your empty life Resigned, strenghtless and breathless but knowing why You have always been acting like a greedy living dead Attracted by living places and begging for warmth and affection To finally be cast aside, rejected and left inevitably alone By all these unsound minded and treacherous beings
Et un matin, tu t’éveilleras mais rien n’aurá changé Tes actes, insatiables, seront toujours d’une parfaite futilité Que tes mots, en cent éclats tremblants, porteront comme fardeau. Et ni les murs, ni la pluie observe de ta fenêtre, n’y répondront Tu resteras ainsi, condamné, impuissant… prisonnier de ton existence Et les jours, eux-mêmes, deviendront de échos… et tes cris resteront sans réponse.
Since we were born, we run towards the illusions of self creation But I tell you, nothing will remain except the void that you once were And the stench of your forsaken, scummy and decomposed empty bottle Wordlessly filling In time within its self sculptured wooden funereal dwelling
So comforting yourself with Gods of high ideals will never make a change
Arcane emptiness will inescapably engulf you within its merciless arms Six feet under you all will be laid to rest with all your sold neighbours Feeding the earth with your poisonous flesh and ludicrous decaying suit Proclaiming your innocence against this mortal and partial punishment
Do whatever you can for erasing years and the unkindness of time Pray whoever you belive for saving souls and heretical minds Profit whenever you’re able to rekindle the flames of vain hopes Waste whichever you find to claim your mucking state of being