My generation is a waste. I remember dogs.
Even dogs are more intelligent than them. Dogs smell danger; they don't.
They can live, very happyly, with opium. Give religion, tv, football and summer songs to them and they may work for you and say "all is okay".
Pan et circensis. This hasn't changed a bit.
A crazy sunshine when dogs sweats bullets, children of a lie.
All catching in a cold space.
Why nobody speak?
Authority is only a game played for all, we feel ourselves so powerful inside a tiny can, we can't be afraid, we hope our ripeness, we're okay.
Oh God oh my of well hum fine forget the past maybe is not able
so why we fell in refrain, a mistery.
Man is the one animal which tripes twice with the same stone. Are we supermen or less than animals? We do it one, two, three, four times.
It's a truth, but you haven't to believe.
Maybe I'm right but maybe i've discovered a great way to be wrong.
Repeat your words again and again make a mantra with them.
Believe your lies.
If you want, if you really need.
Our break of inspiration is a summerday and all the shimmers of this world are fading the shadows of nosense. And no guide makes us go astray or straight. Nobody can help now.
Where have my generation got their eyes?
We are far of perfection, we're so far of something useful, we're bogus.
We're a sort of nothing. We're a piece of jewellery. We're a fake.
I understand a lot but still some ideas run away. If everybody think like me, I won't be so odd and special. But I sometimes look for minds like mine, when I feel I haven't got friends which understand my pain for the fucking world we live in. I feel sorry.
My ink is blood so hard and dried but I won't rest. Here we are or between, let me tell my wise. In a dark and unfinished whisper til world die in an earthquake til I can hear their screams.
Macabre but gorgeous.
I was begging a true friend in all this waste. Now I know I was only begging a hand to hold when the knot of the rope scratched my skin.
To drink something very cold and see all the troubles in a paper. I won't cry, I won't cry. Future is my evil grin to lambs. Violently happy, my scape and my dreams. Clouds in my blurry sky without angels. Walking on a unknow street where coma starts again among people with no face. Generation. Gen. Intoxication. ::::nx.
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