Paths do not exist any longer
since they have left together with the forces
strengthened by the sound of the rage
the last ones of those who stood against ill intentions
what is left are the black faults of the ruler
of those wallowing in the repulsive mess
grasping thin air
and thumbling in an ecstatic spin
the whirlpool has thrown up the people of the mus
the corrupted together with the forget-machine
and it spun into an active mass of curses
on its shores filled with bright emptiness
and they never realized that danger
has a face, nose and ears.