A day, a solitude .
That caricatures life
in the mask of another
fixed in a bitter smile..
The artists\' entrance
is for despair
who drinks a last beer
before falling asleep
in the deep of the oblivion\'s scum
Without even a good night
or a glance for this illusion
of wise communion ...
While waiting for the end
we finds the words for a testament,
wreck of the carnal ,
drift into the gutter\'s channel ...
Anguish always strikes at midnight ,
after the last guest removal
and the first ghost arrival ...
Bottles are empty
from all reason and venison...
Carmin imprint on the lips of a glass
what was once a kiss
from Magda Goebbels...
Solitude is cabaret parody
applauded by corpses in disguise ...
Acrobats swinging on the spider\'s vibe.
You\'ll end up , poor failed actor,
into the lethal arms of a worldless doll
who believes she exists,
coming into play for a handful of pixels...
In the early dirty morning, exorcised...
Always so alone in our inner crowd...
Tell me, doctor Freud ,
why this instrument of evil ?