It is a doomed mien,
I carry it like the gates of hell –
An ailing fruit promises fortune and despair.
Pick your poison they're soon to come…
Together we'll fall...

We'll fall, fall and smirk in debauch
With our eyes burning and souls crying,
As madness rises to perception.
Babylon won't be able to reach,
But Thunder may strike it, enraged and gruff...

Fate's absurd and purpose is the same.
It creeps into my mouth,
Unasked for like a leech.
Naive, then, it smiles inside:
‚This is your desire, is it not? ' But...

Wishes and laments burn faster!
We're both scared – there's no hope -
And absurd has many sides.

2021 VII 06