Who has decided this way?
I can't scream ... stuck-throat.
A natural image - a stabbing pain in my sad soul.
Two separated warm hands, then a look behind a pane,
then a wet presence on my face,
then the silence of my narcotic world ...
Who has decided this way?
I can't sleep ... I'm so alone.
I visualize your face - and I think that my life's gone.
Firstly I see your tearful eyes then the barred doors of a train
I don't think about suicide - 'cause I know, we'll meet again.
In this world can't exist a god
Spiritual masochism slit this throat
It's a sort of self-excitement
A macabre repertory under my modest clothes
I think about all those days
brushing against my old cicatrices
I try to go back ... to conventionality.
But I think it's so unfair ... I can't give a f**.
A bitter sh** to swallow, living in constant hate.