Decrepitude: One Last Laugh Beside Your Agonies

Father,

Take away this cup from me

If you can

Thy will be done, not mine

Thy will be done, not mine

Death,

I forced your cup to these mouth

With iron hands

My will is done, not their

To destroy and create new bitter life

Oh how often tenderness can be

Nothing more than a cruel stained mirror

Beyond which it carefully hides

The coldest form of detachment

Atrocity lies right there, beside your agonies

Atrocity laughs beside your agonies

And then you serenely contemplate

These mountains of mercy

Slowly slough off in mountains of corpses

Climbing one or another

With the seed of sin

So well disguised with robes of repentance

Mother,

Speak to me from heavenly skies

If you can

Your will was done, not mine

Your will was done, not mine

And life,

Hear my words, these will be my last:

Soon you will love me

As a dead is loved

Love me as a dead is loved

Cast away your pain-stained shroud

For in the whisper of loss I choose to be

And I desperately wrap my spirit away

From these cruel laws of mortality

For how often a smiling face can be

Nothing more than a cruel stained mirror

Beyond which it carefully hides

The most evil form of horror

Atrocity lies right there, beside your agonies

Atrocity laughs beside your agonies

Continuously you mould its winding shape

Continuously it laughs beside your pain

With clothes made of sins

Of sins and good intentions

With clothes made of anger

Of anger and candid pardon

Of martyrs and righteous torturers

Of death, of stench and serene lives

Of pity, of shame and distant coldness

Of fire, of water!

Of love, burnt offerings and terror

Of charity, blood and sadism and horror

Of hate in form of weakness

Of bread, of knives in the back!

Staring at you on this fathomless night

Finding correlation only to find myself

Wandering...

Wandering...

Of loss

Innocence buried away

Trapped inside

To never come back again

Nevermore!

I wish you'll never grown

Life, love, life,

Do you really think I need you?

Do you really think I need you?

And I was forced to commit sin, do sin, do sin

But what is sin?

When prospective falls apart

When prospective falls apart...

It's wonderful from here, you know...?

My clothes are made of anger

Of anger and candid pardon

My clothes are made of martyrs

Of martyrs and righteous torturers

My clothes are made of death

Of stench and serene life

My clothes are made of nothing

Of nothing, because...

I am buried away

Trapped somewhere

To never come back again

Nevermore, nevermore!

I wish you'll never grown

Life, love, life,

Do you really think I need you?

Do you really think I need you?