Fuckin’ melancholic people.
Always craving what has passed
what was lost, what it didn’t last.
In words, lines, books,
in the lyrics of songs,
in the music of music
or in the stupid thoughts of the stupid.
Bring them peace,
they will dream of war.
Bring them war,
they will paint with birds your walls.
Bring them love,
and your head in a spike will rot.
Bring them hate,
and they will thank you for it!
these beings who can only do three things:
Breathing, eating, and shitting!
These puppets I love from a long time ago,
these beings of light
that spend their whole life
hiding under a brown facade of snow.