Machines are tearing up my soul
Hounds bark from the depths of my Unconscious
And I am nothing but a mould of living flesh
Assembled in the slaughter-house of Creation!
My God plays chess with the Devil and loses
And the angels dance with the dead,
Vampires beg in the street
With their hearts full of thirst of innocent blood...
I look at them and I shout:
"Run,'cause the Apocalypse is dawning!"
But they, the idealists, whisper:
"The Apocalypse is on strike..."
The morbid waltz of the smog is choking me...
I'll go and take a little rest
Until the Earth will stop revolving...