Cathodic Funeral

Not being thirsty for their tears anymore,
steel runs down children's eyes,
down children's eyes.

You just have to switch off,
switch off to live again,

just have to turn away your head
to root out anguish,

to hit the screen with a stone,
but where can you find a stone?

Neither staring at the images of pain,
nor at the blood spurted out of the
sharp wounds.

Endless corridor towards the bulb,
where the punishments and tortures are
built up.

You close the curtains,
you switch off the light;

in your hand you hold a stone.

While execution wheel rotates in your mind,
I follow the edge of the knife.

While the systems rumble,
the fiendish diaphragm closes up on you : absolute clarity.

You close the curtains,
you switch off the light,
you turn away your head,
then you hold a stone...

But why do you hit your head,
why do you hit your head...?