Children born, first meeting with real life One hand caress and the other asks for a cry
First smell: the fragrance of black skies Caught in the cobweb, waiting death
Human being, slave of his own life Unable to choose ascendants and the place to be born
Slaves we are then if we let someone else control us Ignorants then, now that others put the thoughts inside our heads No way we are free!
I am myself and the world that sorrounds me I am myself and my circumstancies
So meaningless then, all the things that talk about being one-self Objectiveness, artificial word made for those who never judged themselves Still you think you are free?