Our woodland was filled with beggars, maniacs and perverts
But we never had to seek help or find protection
Haven’t known any god or demon to blame
So I embraced their congenital malfunctions,

And mine too

We were surrounded by piles of innocent propagandas
Assorted with some grossly exaggerated honesty
Fortunately enough –
Cleanliness would be the beggars’ top criterion

And mine too

A tiny venomous needle was always the maniac’s favourite weapon
He whispered in the ear,
“Run! Run!! Run!!!
Through the narrowest alleys of your dumb mind!”

The perverts took pauses, often and peculiarly
From the run, from the salacious dances, from their thirst
We’d know we were in the wrong time again
I’d know I had to close my eyes to feel the pain, again

Unfortunately enough –

They liberate your soul
Only to suffocate it with their bare hands