There is some sort of pleasure in being weak
Leaving yourself to mercy
Soft, to be molded harshly, badly
The air keeps wrecking the skin
Making it so dry that it collapses at once
You challenge the rain
Knowing that it will never be sufficient to drown you
The point is to reach the threshold
Which is so dark, so dark
That there can be nothing but light beyond that
You die and die and die some more
You think that is to live better tomorrow
Tomorrow cheats you, slaps you in the face
And then you want to deceive the fucking time itself
Go back, forward, left, right
Don’t you have a twisted desire today
To feel weak, really weak
To lose yourself in a web of desire
Far away from yourself