Winter Severity Index - Compulsion | Текст песни

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• Winter Severity Index
• Compulsion

In the winter evenings
Solitude devours my nerves
in large painful bites.
An endless dismay
deep in the eyes,
a sordid hunger
leads my furious sadness.
My arms
beside my body,
like a turned off merry go round.
Dreams are too precious to be dreamt again,
everything becomes forbidden,
the crime of living
makes me eternally convicted,
while the pornography of the common pride
abuses us.
We are the naked men.
Mute carnages
hidden in every face:
nothing changes in thirty years
but the awareness that this sensation
is no longer a menace
but a bitter truth
to face with.
There are no real victories,
In our past as in our future.
Our empty hands
desperately try
to hang on a so far womb,
to hang on a likewise loser:
We toss our bodies
against each other
like in a car crash
and we call it love,
and we call it life,
when it' only
compulsion.
Compulsion.

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