suicide

n°1

If I wish to die,
That is my right,
If I wish to die,
Move out of my sight,
If I hunger for death,
To selfishly stop my own breath,
From polluting the air I breathe,
Restrain yourself, silence your voice,
For it is I who descides,
To kill my own soul which hides,
My many torments I despise.

With a drop of blood,
With a hint of drugs,
With a scent of decay
My corpse will lay,
Broken, torn, shattered,
Like my mind, rotten,
That has so...painfully forgotten,
What worth there is,
In a world no longer his,
In a world,
Where the minds of its people seem filled with piss!



n°2

Let me go,
Lest I forget the summer's dawn,
Lest I cry, for a lack of place to belong,
As in darkness I crept for refuge,
As in darkness my tears would fall in silence,
In the hope that, for a while
The world would respect my dark alliance.

In defiance of my being,
That so long forgot all meaning,
Of either life or soul or body,
I knew my porpose to be leaving.

In virtuous delusions I expected,
The world of men to be affected,
By either death or suffering or desease,
That against all odds,
My conscience I might appease.

But oh! with what ease did my heart tumble,
With what humbling speed did my hopes crumble,
As no feat of man woman, or beast nor child,
Seemed able to withstand the ancient laws of the Wild.

And so...mildly disappointed,
Only mildly, since this is the role I was appointed,
I say goodbye to you
As the end came with a tiny little lie,

Say I who is about to die.



n°3

Le soir, d'une conscience tranquille,
Je contemple la ville,
Réfectoire de toute chose vile,
Habité des péchés d'argile.

Ainsi la nuit je colorie,
Par le noir de mon sang je soumet l'oublie,
En ouvrant mes veines je commémore la vie,
Qui de couleurs bordeaux s'enfuit.

En détresse je contemple la bassesse,
Âme humaine si pleine d'adresse,
Pour fuir la faute qui toujours doit être à l'autre,
Le vieil pêché de notre douzième apôtre,
Nous suit, nous hante, fait oublier l'héritage qui est nôtre.

Ma vision se perturbe,
Assez de l'humanité qui se masturbe
Mon sang, écarlate sur le pavé m'enivre,
Et quand, de pleine conscience je me livre,
A mon destin, qui est de ne plus pouvoir vivre,
Qui est de ne rien vouloir, ne rien savoir de la fin de mon livre
Ah! enfin je vous dis adieu,
Êtres détestables qui de péchés s'accablent,
Comme il est facile d'en finir avec un coup de sabre!