Avide De Sens

Someday you will wake up in the depth of the night

Anguished, tormented and helpless but wondering why

It's the torturing void of your miserable existence

The siliness of your life, the uselessness of your acts

All working over your mind and filing you with fear

Someday you will realize at the end of your empty life

Resigned, strengthless and breathless but knowing why

You have always been acting like a greedy living dead

Attracted by living places and begging for warmth and affection

To finally be cast aside, rejected and left inevitably alone

By all these unsound minded and treacherous beings

Et un matin, tu t'éveilleras mais rien n'aura changé

Tes actes, insatiables, seront toujours d'une parfaite futilité

Que tes mots, en cent éclats tremblants, porteront comme fardeau

Et ni les murs, ni la pluie observée de ta fenêtre, n'y répondront

Tu resteras ainsi, condamné, impuissant... prisonnier de ton existence

Et les jours, eux-mêmes, deviendront des échos... et tes cris resteront sans réponse

Since we we're born, we run towards the illusions of self creation

But I tell you, nothing will remain except the void that you once were

And the stench of your forsaken, scummy and decomposed empty bottle

Wordlessly filing in time within its self sculptured wooden funereal dwelling

So comforting yourself with gods or high ideals will never make a change

Arcane emptiness will inescapably engulf you within its merciless arms

Six feet under you all will be laid to rest with all your sold neighbours

Feeding the earth with your poisonous flesh and ludicrous decaying suit

Proclaiming your innocence against this mortal and partial punishment

Do whatever you can for erasing years and the unkindness of time

Pray whoever you believe for saving souls and heretical minds

Profit whenever you're able to rekindle the flames of vain hopes

Waste whichever you find to claim your mucking state of being