On tiptoes, with the pa**ing of the old wayfarer
Whose tongue is damned, choking in the foul salty blood
To run after the cart which is consumed on coarse
Bifurcated tongues, between squares full of
Animals and dark alleys (without a destination);
Dressed in gla**
To shine to a weak sun
Of battered iron, you will soon become
Naked
And your flesh will be soaked with the most elegant red
That one which is more deep
The man who sells humans will tighten ropes around your feet
Let's confess your sin
Sparkling, speechless and naïve plastic diamonds
Behind long sweaty fingers
You will cut your arms and legs not to falter
You will sew your bodies together with (infected) needles
Looked at by astute watchers
Naked men, coming from foreign villages
You will be willing to give up your soul
To be able to still
Hear
The tinkling of a coin
You will be ready to confess repulsive sins
To receive the acquittal of the old wayfarer
But the road to forgiveness goes
Through trails too steep for those that
Do not have any dignity left
Legs of worthless people will putrefy with their rotten souls
Dream of the present, oh pa**engers
Unbounded pride
Puppets with a polished smile
And interiors made of straw
The old dry bones will painfully break
And an out-of-tune choir will sing