In This Painful Life

When time has left behind almost all that

which one would need of life

That was the beginning of the moments which could be

called by the abyss, the comprehensive darkness where to

only the most brilliant,

the self-learned souls opened their gates

The cold hands, leaking as the mind of the weak

in this painful distress that someone would name a hell:

all this spiritual work for the devil, the self-sacrifice.

All this cold time, the prayers and the rites.

(cho) This life is fucking painful

the destructive hybrid of life

the last voyage of the black soul

the genocide of the heartless world

There is no end to this blatant blasphemy against me

this sharp shattering of my perfect ideal

forever they follow, forever they breath

those clockwork hell-hounds of profane making

as the coldness demands my will I am laughing

the multitude of flies forms a face of the other

absent skin dresses the unworthy that watch and gnaw

the searing halo of the mind will surely be my end