She told him the truth about her living
about the wasted days, the things she is giving
the drugs, the lovers, the course of the disease
he only said: stop bothering me! Please
he´s sitting on the floor, it becomes routine
the nightly desire not to be so mean
but then he gulp down love and hate
he won´t escape from the force to perpetrate
the child is always living in the morbid room
it's just a wasteland and filled with gloom
it´s body has been declared a war on it
it´s a finite story, no good will come of it
women are not emancipated now
yes, it's just a hope, to bring the whole thing
into a better form, than this ruling norm
noone, can ever say, how we should act
to make the whole thing, perfect
but if there´s no real solution
isn´t it senseless and full of confusion
humanity is still acting paralysed
the fetish has not been recognized
until now there´s only unsuspecting life
on this system called bona fide, we dive