Someday you will wake up in the depth of the night Anguished, tormented and helpless but wondering why Its the torturing void of your miserable existence The siliness of your life, the uselessness of your acts All working over your mind and filing you with fear Someday you will realize at the end of your empty life Resigned, strengthless and breathless but knowing why You have always been acting like a greedy living dead Attracted by living places and begging for warmth and affection To finally be cast aside, rejected and left inevitably alone By all these unsound minded and treacherous beings Et un matin, tu tveilleras mais rien naura chang Tes actes, insatiables, seront toujours dune parfaite futilit Que tes mots, en cent clats tremblants, porteront comme fardeau Et ni les murs, ni la pluie observe de ta fentre, ny rpondront Tu resteras ainsi, condamn, impuissant... prisonnier de ton existence Et les jours, euxmmes, deviendront des chos... et tes cris resteront sans rponse Since we were born, we run towards the illusions of self creation But I tell you, nothing will remain except the void that you once were And the stench of your forsaken, scummy and decomposed empty bottle Wordlessly filing in time within its self sculptured wooden funereal dwelling So comforting yourself with gods or high ideals will never make a change Arcane emptiness will inescapably engulf you within its merciless arms Six feet under you all will be laid to rest with all your sold neighbours Feeding the earth with your poisonous flesh and ludicrous decaying suit Proclaiming your innocence against this mortal and partial punishment Do whatever you can for erasing years and the unkindness of time Pray whoever you believe for saving souls and heretical minds Profit whenever youre able to rekindle the flames of vain hopes Waste whichever you find to claim your mucking state of being
et, te, filing, de, ni